Addiction
by Mistress Of The Macabre
Summary: A rich man with a horrific past. A photographer who struggles with everyday life. Both have turned to heroin to deal with their problems, but when they are forced into rehab, they find a new addiction... in each other. Adam/Mallick
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING**: This story contains graphic themes, violence, drug references, and coarse language. Please do not read if this may upset or offend you in any way.

**Chapter 1.**

**Heroin-induced introductions.**

**XxX**

**APOV **

_Where the FUCK was my baggie?_ I needed it to rid myself of the darkness that was once again threatening to swallow me whole. I didn't mean to be so melodramatic, really. But, dramatic-sounding or not, it was the goddamn _truth. _ I needed that goddamn high, and I needed it _now. _

I raked my hands through my hair, as I searched my room for what had to be the fiftieth time tonight. I checked all the fucking obvious places, like under my bed, the pockets of the several pairs of jeans that littered the floor, and in my drawers. Of course, they weren't fucking there. Of course they weren't. Leave it to me to chuck my fucking syringes somewhere, and then not being able to find the fucking things again.

I really needed to clean my shithole apartment, so maybe I wouldn't get myself in this kind of pissy situation so often, but I honestly could not find the will to pick up even a pair of jeans. As a result of my non-cleaning, my apartment fucking stank. No fucking wonder Lawrence thought I was such a loser. I couldn't even find a bag of fucking _syringes! _

I sighed and sat down on my sorry excuse for a bed. _Think, Adam, think... _I clapped my hands over my face, straining for the memory of when I'd last used the damn syringes. _The last time you used them..._

I jumped up from my bed, made my way to the bathroom, and flicked on the lights. Sometimes they refused to cooperate, but for some reason, they did today. Not that I was complaining. I surveyed the tiny, shitty little bathroom, and spied the baggie sitting on the edge of the bathtub. _What the fuck...? _I snatched them from their perch, practically ripped the bag open, and took out a syringe. Fuck. I was running out. I'd have to buy some more from Xavier soon. I stuck the point of the needle into my wrist, and I injected myself. _Ahh, much better. _Just like that, the darkness seemed to dissipate, and I felt almost normal. Ah, just one of the many wonders of heroin!

It's a good thing I don't share my apartment, otherwise I'd be in deep shit by now. Ivan had a moment of precognition when he let me rent the apartment at the very end of the building. That, and the fact that I had a bit of a reputation as an asshole, I never got any unexpected visits.

I suppose, to most heroin addicts, I had the ideal living conditions. I didn't have to resort to crime or sex work to pay for my 'happy highs', and I had a decent amount of secrecy here in my shithole apartment. In this life, I was probably as happy as I was going to get. Which wasn't all that happy.

I moved from my bathroom- the smell was getting to me- and I looked out the huge window that hung in what was supposedly my living room. I saw the sheer blackness of the sky, so very alike to the darkness that consumed me, and I scowled, depression settling over me even through the effects of the drug. _Fucking night-time. _It seemed to last forever, moving slower than two old people fucking, and that was pretty damned slow. Night-time was the time I hated the most, because it brought back so many bad memories. It wasn't like I could sleep, either- the dreams that haunted me were so fucked-up, it was better that I stayed awake, all night and every night. The dreams weren't just fucked-up, they were _depressing. _And I had had more than my fair share of sadness, thank you very much.

So I was now left with the rather pissy problem of not having the faintest idea what I was going to do next. I could always pull out the syringes again, but, since my stash was nearing complete depletion, that probably wasn't the best idea. I couldn't get more until I developed the fucking photos that the very-intimidating Eric Matthews had requested, and he paid me. I'd said before that, unlike most people like me, I didn't have to turn to crime or sex work to pay for my stash. Well, it's true. I'm a freelance photographer, and while I don't get requested all that often, the money I get for snapping and developing a couple of photos is more than enough.

I could always call Seth, and we could go get pissed together. I didn't often go out and get drunk with him- he was too...weird...to be taken in large doses, but he was an alright guy.

I remember one particular time when we were in high school, and he told the principal to 'get fucked'. I loved that shit. We've been friends ever since.

However, when I called, he didn't answer. _Fuck. _Where the hell was he when I actually _needed _him? I sighed and hung the phone back up. Right then, my mood was so low that I was surprised that it _could _get that low, especially when I was currently under the influence of drugs.

I sat back down on my bed, and wondered what the hell I could do to pass the time while the seemingly endless stretch of night reigned. Not sleep, obviously. I stared up at the ceiling. _Might as well get those fucking photos finished. _I sighed. I might as well. I mean, if I didn't, Eric would probably club me, and the last thing I needed right now was a black eye. So it was with some reluctance that I moved to my darkroom, or the shitty motel equivalent of one, and I began to develop Eric's photos. They weren't anything spectacular, mostly ones of him and his kid, Daniel.

I hung up the photographs to dry, and I moved onto some more, deliberately taking my time, so that maybe, just maybe, it'd be daylight by the time I finished. It was pleasant enough, doing one of the few things I did right, for hours on end, but after a while, I had to admit, it was getting old pretty damn fast. Maybe it was just because I was plagued by my own stream of darkness, but the photographs of detective Eric Matthews and his annoying son made my stomach twist, and it soon became hard to even _look _at the photos, let alone develop them. If I was being honest with myself- and I wasn't all that often- that emotion that was making my stomach curl into knots was jealousy. Eric was only a few years older than I was (I was due to turn twenty-eight in seventeen days), and already he had a wife and kid.

The last time I'd had a girlfriend was more than a few years ago- and she'd slapped me. Since that particular incident, I'd made no effort to throw myself in amongst women. Seth was worried about me then, still is probably, but there's nothing he can really do. He'd tried to set me up a few times with some really hot chicks, but, after years of ignoring the opposite sex, it felt utterly bizarre, if not _wrong, _to suddenly jump on some random girl and screw her. I had no doubt that was where I'd gotten my 'asshole' reputation- from all the girls I'd rejected over the years.

I began shaking my head, unwilling to take that particular train of thought any further.

After ducking out of the darkroom to investigate whether night-time was still going strong (which it was), I returned to the photos, letting out another exasperated sigh.

**MPOV**

As I stared down into the darkness, I felt my stomach clench. I hated this room with the fiery passion of a million hells. I knew I had no right to feel this way- God knows how much fucking money my father had spent creating this room for me- but I just couldn't bring myself to take even one step down the stairs, into the darkness. In the brighter hours of the day, the light would filter in from one of the many windows that lined the impeccable hallway leading to this fucking monstrosity, and it would be almost bearable. _Almost. _However, it was an entirely different story when night fell. Dank, dark, and suffocating, it was probably the closest thing to hell on earth- at least in my opinion.

I could feel the familiar fear and panic enveloping me just opening the door. Even though the hallway lights were on, I couldn't draw strength from them. Upon facing the dark abyss before me, the lights appeared ghostly, surreal, and I knew that if I took just one step down into the darkness, hands would seize me, and I'd never see the light again. Maybe they'd take a lighter to me again, and I'd feel the rest of my body burn. At least then my right arm wouldn't stick out as much. I remembered all too well the sounds of screams, _my _screams, pleading, _begging _for them to stop...

I jolted out of that line of thinking, and slammed the door a little harder than perhaps what the situation called for. I heard my father grumble upstairs. _Shit. _I'd have to go and apologize for waking him up. It was well after midnight, and I knew my father had a huge case to attend to later today. My father's a lawyer, and it's because of him that I have a place to stay. Most people would think it's strange that a grown man still lives with his father, but my father rarely stays at home, so I more or less have the place to myself, which is a good thing. If my father had chosen to be a cop instead, he would have discovered the package of syringes that his son keeps so close, and then I'd be in even deeper shit. It wasn't actually me who'd suggested I'd stay here. It wasn't my father, either. It was the cops. And when the cops make a 'suggestion', you usually go along with it.

I sighed. If I had to make amends to my father, I may as well do it now. I crept along the hallways, flicking on lights at random, knowing it'd probably piss my father off even more, but I simply couldn't stand to wander around our huge fucking mansion with only the shadows for company. When I arrived at my father's room, however, he was already fast asleep, snoring lightly. He apparently didn't want an apology. Well, that was fine with me. I watched him for a few moments, before I went to my overly large, immaculate bedroom.

This was where I usually spent my night hours. I usually had no idea what the hell I was going to do, and this time was no different. I sat down on my bed and sighed. _May as well finish that compilation CD you've been working on..._ One of my latest projects was to create a compilation CD that never failed to keep you awake. Most of it was screamer music- but I had discovered that if you were tired enough, even screamer music could put you to sleep. So my compilation CD was a total failure so far. Nevertheless, I still got up and attempted to fix it again. There HAD to be something I wasn't getting right. And I wasn't going to stop until I found out what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

**Alcoholic first encounters. **

**XxX**

**APOV**

Once the sun began to show signs of rising, I abandoned my photographs and moved to the kitchen, with the intention of getting something to eat. However, when I opened the cupboards, I found that there wasn't much choice- unless I enjoyed eating fucking Cheerios. I let out an impatient sigh and snatched the box from its perch, and made myself a rather unsatisfying breakfast. I stared at the miniature doughnut-shaped pieces of cereal with loathing. I must have been _very _high when I bought these- there was no way I'd buy this kind of crappy cereal of my own free will.

I poked the cereal experimentally with my spoon, and almost instantaneously, the phone rang. _Saved by the fucking bell...how cliché. _"Hello?"

"It's about fucking time, man. Angelina has been up my ass all morning about going to this party that Xavier's throwing today." Typical Seth. Apparently, saying hello was out of his league. Fucking prick.

"Xavier's throwing a party? First time _I've _heard of it." I wasn't too impressed with Seth Baxter at the moment. He never failed to tell me the important shit about five minutes _before _it was due to happen. Apart from that, he was dating a cop's sister. How stupid can you get?

"Yeah, well, Xavier wants you to come. You _are _coming, right?" Okay, aside from being forgetful and incredibly stupid, Seth Baxter was also very pushy. I deliberated for a moment, wondering whether Eric Matthews could possibly wait another day until I got his photos to him. I decided he could.

"What the fuck, why not?" I _would _go to the party- but I wouldn't enjoy myself. In fact, I would probably wallow in self-pity until I grew some balls and left. I was all for getting pissed and high, but I knew the real motivation behind Seth's pushiness. At Xavier's parties, there were often more women than men there- and with my rather non-existent sex life, this would be the perfect setting for Seth to try and force a couple of women on me.

Our conversation didn't last very long after that. Seth asked me how my work was going, and I replied in a perfectly neutral tone of voice that while it wasn't going brilliantly, it was going okay. I asked him how Angelina- Angelina Hoffman- was going. Seth gave me a very brief but very graphic description of last night's events, which was why he didn't answer the phone when I called. My bored expression quickly became one of disgust, and I hung up soon after. I sighed. The party was during the day- and would start in a few hours. Xavier was well-known for chucking huge goddamn raves in the middle of the day. Apparently, he preferred the light to the dark. That was one thing we had in common.

Once I'd hung up, I immediately began to plan how I would escape Seth for the duration of the party. I would arrive, and then immediately leave for the nearest abandoned room. I would take my refuge there, and wait out the seemingly endless hours until the moon began to rise. I would avoid all unnecessary contact with both Seth and anyone of the opposite gender; God knows what would happen if either got to me.

I suppressed a shudder, and stood up, with the intention of getting ready for my grand appearance at Xavier's party. Seth hadn't had to tell me where it was being held- it was always held in the same fucking place, at exactly the same fucking time: 7:00 AM. I'd told Xavier, over and over again, that the police were going to notice a pattern soon, but did he listen? No, of _course_ not. _No-one listens to me anymore... _

I sighed, and then reluctantly took a shower. I only did so because I hadn't done so in about four days, and I was starting to smell. I briefly considered not showering, and hope that my repulsive odour would repel the countless blonde bimbos who would undoubtedly try and score easy sex, but I decided against the idea- the phrase 'I like it dirty' floated through my mind, and that only made me grimace.

The hot water was soothing, and I let it rain upon me, sighing contentedly. The water soothed my tense muscles, and, for the first time in four days, I found that I could relax. I closed my eyes and stood in the shower a little longer than was absolutely necessary.

When I stepped out of the shower, I searched through my shithole apartment, pulling clothes on at random. I never really put much thought into what I wore- usually a simple t-shirt and jeans, my favourite blue jacket, and my very scuffed-up and fucked-up boots. I probably looked even less well-to-do than I really was (which was pretty damn bad- I was only _just_ managing to pay my rent), but I could hardly find it in myself to give a fuck.

I stared around my room absently, and then went inside my makeshift darkroom to check on the photos that were still developing. I found that they were coming along nicely. Detective Matthews would be pleased. I could imagine only too well the wad of bills he would hand me the next day, and, while the thought should have made me happy, it did not. There was only a sense of dread, and I immediately felt angry with myself. Why was I feeling this way? Was I seriously so fucked-up that I couldn't even appreciate money when I earned it?

I sighed. I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer to that question.

**MPOV**

My father had barely walked out the door when the phone rang. I had a vague idea of who it might be, and I was endlessly grateful that I was alone. Imagine my father's reaction if he answered the phone! I could imagine only too well how that particular conversation would go, and it would not end well. I knew that call was meant for me, and only me.

I snatched at the phone, almost dropping it in my haste. Thoroughly irritated with myself, I pressed it to the side of my face. "Hello?"

"Mallick!" a familiar voice crowed. "How the hell are you, buddy?"

"Fine," I replied cautiously. Xavier Chavez did not make personal phone calls unless he wanted something from you, and I was surprised to hear his voice on the other end of the line. What could he possibly want from a thoroughly traumatized, scarred, burnt freak like me?

"That's good. Hey, listen, I'm chucking a huge party today, and I want you to come. Everything is half price, and only for tonight. So, do I hear interest from you, Mr. Scott?"

My jaw dropped. Xavier was cutting the price of his hits in _half. _I had over five hundred dollars in my wallet right now. I...I was speechless. If there ever such things as miracles, then this was almost certainly it.

"Mallick?"

I pulled myself from my somewhat blissful reverie. "Yeah," I mumbled into the mouthpiece, "yeah, you have some interest."

Xavier was jubilant, and I was sure that he was smiling on the other end. He informed me that the party was beginning shortly, and that he was looking forward to seeing me there. I stuttered an unintelligible reply and hung up, feeling slightly dazed. I took a shower, and then dressed quickly, throwing clothes on at random, hoping that they matched. I probably didn't look as rich as I was supposed to be, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. I snuck into my father's room and located his wallet; within seconds, I had a crisp hundred-dollar note crumpled into my fist. I'd need that money for a taxi. I was not going to give the driver the exact address; I would ask him to drop me off a block away, and I would walk the rest of the way, so as to not arouse suspicion.

As it had been drilled into me since I was a kid, I made sure that the house was locked, and all of the security alarms were activated, before I retreated from my unnaturally dark home and moved into the very welcome light.

Using my mobile phone, I quickly dialled taxi service and requested a cab. Once that was over, I stood on the sidewalk in front of my home, and I tried not to look suspicious.

**APOV**

By the time seven rolled around, I was standing across the street from where the party was, panting lightly; unable to afford a taxi, I'd had to walk. It wasn't _that _far- but the fact that I couldn't even afford a fucking _taxi _when I really needed it weighed heavily on my mind, causing darkness to settle over me once more. I really _was_ fucked-up in the head!

I was broken out of my thoughts by the loud music emanating from the large white house across the street. I supposed, to normal people, the music was upbeat and cheerful, but to me, who was notoriously fucked in the head, it was dreary, dubious, and I was sick of it already.

Letting out a long, resigned sigh, I put out the cigarette I'd been smoking and crossed the street, glancing around surreptitiously, before making my way through the door that had been propped open for guests.

There seemed to be a fairly heavy crowd, but it was not as bad as I thought it would have been. A girl I didn't know appeared to be sewn at the lips to some bald guy with tattoos. I moved past the make-out session, which seemed to be edging towards almost-sex-with-clothes-on, and made my way deeper into the house, intending to find an isolated room where I could spend the remainder of the day. I heard squeals and moans, and Xavier's deep voice instructing someone not to 'puke' on the carpet.

I almost bumped into Seth, who wasn't looking my way, for which I was grateful. Hanging onto each of his arms were two young women, with heavy makeup and whore-ish clothing. Since Seth was insanely in 'love' with Angelina Hoffman, I knew these girls had one purpose, and one purpose only: find Adam Faulkner and fuck the crap out of him. Fear constricting my chest, I quickly moved away from them, making sure to keep my head down, so that no-one would recognise me.

I was nearly free when I ran into another unpleasant guest: Obi Tate. The guy was so doped, he didn't even notice when I literally _ploughed _into him, making him drop both his cigarette and his beer. He just grinned stupidly and stumbled away. 

I spied a large staircase that led to the second story of the house, which was teeming with even more partygoers. Thinking that it might be harder for Seth to spot me in such a crowd, I darted up the staircase. I knocked more than a few people aside, and I felt a pang of guilt at that, but I didn't stop. I kept on moving, until I was sure that Seth could not see me.

I was panting and shaking lightly by now, and I worked to steady my breathing, squeezing my eyes shut briefly. A hand touched my shoulder, and I reacted instinctively, shying away from the gentle touch. It was a woman, about five or six years older than me, and she looked concerned. She had dark brown hair that short and spiky. She wore a plain green shirt and baggy blue pants. In my panicked state, I could not tell whether she was beautiful or not. "Are you alright?" she asked me now, not moving her hand from my shoulder.

"Fine," I muttered. The woman raised an eyebrow, apparently not convinced. I glared at her, not bothering to hide my irritation. I wanted to be left alone, so I could put more distance between myself and Seth. I did _not _want to talk to this woman. "Really," I insisted, "I'm _fine." _

She shrugged and held up her other hand, which held a can of beer, unopened. She pressed it into my sweaty hands. "Take it," she insisted. When I made no effort to accept the gift, she sighed and curled my fingers around the can. _"Take it." _

Fear threatened to consume me once again, but it was not the same fear that Seth had brought on. This woman's eyes were dark- and _wild. _I inhaled slightly, and the stench of alcohol was astoundingly obvious. She was drunk, and was trying to get me to be as well. I swallowed tightly, as I imagined what her intentions might be. "You-you know what?" I stuttered, "I-I have to g-go now...it was nice to, um, meet you, but..."

The woman's hands closed around my wrists like steel traps. All the friendliness disappeared, and she sneered at me. I should not have been afraid- but I was. I trembled before her, still clutching the can of beer, and she leant in, leant in so close that I could smell the tobacco lingering on her breath-

"Hey, what's going on here?"

The woman reluctantly looked away from me, and found that she was face-to-face with Xavier Chavez, a man not only about town, but a man that was easily three times her size. Xavier leant in, inhaled deeply, and smiled. It was not an unfriendly smile, but rather, the smile of someone speaking to the mentally retarded. "Amanda, I think you've had enough to drink," he said gently, prying her hands from my wrists. I looked down at them, and knew that I would have bruises the next day.

The woman, Amanda, scowled. "But he's so _cute," _she said, pointing at me, as if that explained her lecherous actions. Xavier sighed.

"Amanda, enough's enough," he said, gently but firmly. "It's time for you to go home."

I thought Amanda might put up more of a fight, but she simply nodded, and slunk downstairs. Xavier watched her carefully until she was out of eyesight. He then turned to me. "Crazy bitch nearly got you, huh?"

I nodded, not capable of speech just yet. Xavier sighed. "Amanda Young. She's a rapist in disguise. You sure you're all right?"

I nodded again, my hands locked around the can of beer. Xavier sighed again, but it was one of sympathy. He reached into his pockets, and drew out a few hits of heroin. "For you," he said, placing them into my pocket. I tried to pull the corners of my mouth into a smile, but all I managed was a grimace. Xavier patted my back, and then departed back into the crowd.

It took a while for me to recover from Amanda's attack. I moved down the hallway, intending to find an empty room, where I could recount the terrifying event that had just taken place. It wasn't like I could help it- the memory was fresh in my mind, and would perhaps be seared into place, like so many other bad memories- including the one depicting Lawrence Gordon. Depression settled over me, drowning out the fear. I was so pathetic.

I tried a number of doorknobs, and discovered that they were locked. I stumbled down the hallway, continuing to try each doorknob I came across, until I finally found one that wasn't locked. The door swung open with ease, and I threw myself into the room and slammed the door behind me. I leant my forehead against it, and let out a long sigh. I stared at my can of beer, and I opened it, with the faint hope that the buzz of the alcohol might douse the depression. I gulped at the bitter liquid frantically, some of it dripping down my chin. When I had drunk at least half of the can in one sitting, I had to stop. I took several deep, shuddering breaths, aware of the sweat dripping down my forehead. Feeling slightly paranoid, I turned around, my back to the door. To anyone who might have seen me, I would have appeared highly intoxicated, on either alcohol or drugs.

I was about to take another sip of my beer when I saw a shadow detach itself from the darkness surrounding me (I hadn't bothered to turn on the lights). It was shaped like a person, and, as it moved into my peripheral vision, I saw that it was a man: in his mid-twenties, with short brown hair, frightened eyes. He wore a pair of baggy jeans, with a long-sleeved, ratty white shirt covering his upper body. There appeared to be something wrong with his right arm, but I didn't have time to see what it was. Whoever he was, he moved with blinding speed, and rushed towards me. I could only stare stupidly as he barraged into me, upending my beer can; the contents fell upon my white shirt. Anger swelled instantaneously, and suddenly, I found that I could speak again. _"You stupid FUCK!" _

The person ignored me and opened the door, and then darted away, rather like a startled bird. I lumbered to my feet and sprinted to the doorway, but, when I glanced down the hallway, he was nowhere to be seen.

**MPOV**

I was cowering in the darkness, imagining that hands were reaching for me, when the door opened. I leapt to my feet, startled, but made sure to stay hidden in the darkness; I didn't want whoever it was to see me. The person was panting heavily, and I saw, in the poor light, that his expression was scared; sweat glistened on his forehead, and he clutched a beer to his chest. He appeared to be drunk, as he swayed slightly on the spot, as he moved to shut the door behind him. The noise was sudden and harsh to my ears; I winced in my cover of darkness.

Because my eyes were so accustomed to the dark, I could still see the man standing by the doorway. He appeared not to be much older than I was, and was dressed similarly: baggy jeans, with a plain white shirt and a blue jacket. He turned slowly, and pressed his face to the door, taking several deep, shaky breaths, sounding as though he were about to cry. He then cracked open his can of beer and gulped at it feverishly, like a baby might do when offered a bottle of milk. When he finally moved the can away from his mouth, he breathed in deeply, obviously trying to calm himself down.

It was then that I decided that I had to move. This guy was obviously drunk, or drugged, and who knew what he might think of to do if he were to learn that I was in the room with him? As he raised the can to his mouth again, I darted forward, making my way to the door. I moved with blinding speed, and I heard him intake a sharp breath, before I tripped. I flew forward- and barrelled into the man before me. I let out a cry of fright and surprise, and struggled to my feet once more.

"_You stupid FUCK!" _

He was talking to me, of that I was absolutely certain. I must have spilt his beer. I felt bad about that, but I didn't stop. I simply careened from the room, and sprinted down the hallway as fast as I could.

I didn't bother staying at the party- I'd already bought several more hits of heroin- and I fled the house as fast as I could. I didn't even bother hailing a cab. I ran the entire way home.

When I got home, I fell upon my bed, not even bothering to hide my stash of drugs, and promptly fell into unconsciousness.

**APOV**

I didn't remain at the party much longer after that. After the other guy left, I drifted downstairs, and left through the front door. As I walked the dead streets, I felt curiously empty. Maybe it was just my stupid depression settling over me once again. I shrugged and continued on until I reached my motel. Ivan was busy feeding his poodle, Chance, so I simply marched upstairs, not bothering to say hello.

I had a moment of difficulty with getting my key into the lock, but when I finally managed to open my apartment door, I hurried inside, shutting the door behind me. I flipped the lights on, and, after a moment of brief hesitation, there was light. I threw my keys onto the kitchen counter and then flopped onto my pathetic bed. I didn't bother to get changed- there were no clean clothes left now- and I stared up at the ceiling, drowsiness sweeping over me. It didn't take long for sleep to take over, and, when I succumbed to it, I slept without dreaming.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

**Bitchy Karma incidents. **

**XxX**

**MPOV**

It was a dream, but, at the same time, it wasn't. It was more of an impression. An impression that something of mine was no longer with me. There was a sense of dread and fucking loneliness, and it scared the shit out of me.

When the alarm went off, I took longer than usual to pull myself from sleep's clutches. It was screeching that same goddamn annoying sound, but I was afraid to wake up, because I was afraid of discovering what exactly I'd lost. I wanted to know, but at the same time, I didn't.

After more than a few moments of difficulty, I got out of bed, feeling tense and high-strung. I couldn't quite place why; the impression, the party, that guy I ran into last night, or all my usual bloody drama, I hadn't the faintest idea. Anyhow, I was practically BUZZING with tension this morning, and I sure as hell did not like it.

I surveyed my room, searching for anything out of place. All of my usual shit was there, but...I felt like I was missing something. Something big.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, I sat down at my desk and flipped through my CD collection, trying to recall what I was missing. Getting increasingly agitated as more time went by, I put my head in my hands, straining for the memory of what had happened last night. I hadn't been under the influence of any drugs or alcohol, so the memories came quickly, easily:

_As soon as I had arrived at Xavier's party, I made a beeline for the staircase. There weren't that many partygoers yet, so I figured that if Xavier asked, no-one would know where I was. I hadn't been trying to be antisocial, really. I just wasn't a people person, especially since..._

_I'd hidden in the last room at the end of the hallway, figuring that nobody would try to use it. I had hidden in the shadows, my body tensed all over, trying to conquer my fear of the dark once and for all. But, the longer I'd sat there, the more afraid I became. _

_Then the other man had barged into my refuge, acting as though he were intoxicated. I'd fled the room as quickly as I could- knocking the other man down in the process- and I'd returned home. _

_I hadn't bothered to go through the security process- my father was home- and I had ran to my bedroom, flung my hits of heroin on the floor, and fell onto my bed, sleep- _

"Fuck." I'd chucked my heroin on the floor. I immediately leapt to the floor and began scouring every inch of the impeccable ivory carpet, searching for the drugs, but I ultimately came up empty. _Where the fuck were they? _Desperate, I began turning my room upside-down in an attempt to find them. I pulled books from shelves, drawers from their rightful places, even sheets from my bed, and threw them all to the floor, eventually leaving all of my furniture bare.

Still, they weren't there. "Fuck! _Fuck!" _I shouted, not caring if my father heard me. I had a pretty foul mouth, and he'd grown used to that fact. It wasn't like he could change it.

Upon hearing a banging noise downstairs, I reluctantly left my room to investigate. It was morning, and the sun streamed through the many windows of our large, open home. I was not afraid now- I was only afraid at night-time. Bad things only happen at night-time. I crept along the hallway and poked my head into my father's room. Empty. Shrugging, I continued on, checking all of the rooms along that hallway. My father had a LOT of money, and he loved to throw it around. As a result, we had six bedrooms, even though there are only two people in the house. All of them were empty, so I moved downstairs and searched the kitchen, where our housekeeper usually hung about, but she wasn't here today. Of course. Today was her day off.

Confused, I turned on the spot, as though changing my stance would somehow reveal the source of the mysterious noise. My left hand tugged at my shirt collar impatiently, while my right buried itself deep in the pocket of my much-loved pair of jeans. _Where the fuck is that noise coming from...? _When I heard the noise again, I wasted no time. I followed the sound, still tugging on my collar; the white material was going to tear soon, I could tell. I prowled the length of the house, and, when I saw where the sound was coming from, I stopped in my tracks.

I glared into the semi-darkness, wanting to find out what the noise was, yet, at the same time, not wanting to, because the sound was coming from my personal hell: the basement. Life surely wasn't that cruel, was it? Did that noise seriously HAVE to come from the one place I swore never to enter?

Karma's a real bitch sometimes.

Counting slowly to ten, I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed in deeply. I focused on that, trying to slow my wild heart rate. I was also trying to summon what little courage I had, to discover what the hell that god-awful noise was. When I was sure that I'd calmed down enough to open my eyes again, I took a tentative step into the semi-darkness. To my relief, no hands reached out for me. Nevertheless, my heart rate began to gallop once more at the very thought. I began pulling harder than what was necessary on my shirt collar, and I felt it tear slightly. My breath hitched in my throat slightly, and I tried desperately not to think. No, not think about what happened nearly a year ago, but to not think altogether.

It was easier not to think if I kept my eyes closed. I staggered down into the basement, my right hand reaching out blindly. I didn't let go of my shirt collar.

The trip down the stairs seemed to take forever, but I knew it was all me, the fucked-up little freak that I, Mallick Scott, was. I moved slowly, not wanting to trip and break my neck on the ominous stairs. When my feet eventually found solid ground, I could not help the sigh of relief that escaped me. I didn't open my eyes just yet. The light from the windows did not go down this far, and I knew that if I opened my eyes, I'd lose what little self-confidence I'd earned from this terrifying trip into the darkness.

I stumbled my way to the wall. I was searching for a light, so that I could rid myself of the darkness. After a few embarrassing minutes of fumbling along the wall, my hands sliding over the smooth wall, I found the switch, and flipped it. I opened my eyes and let out another sigh of relief.

"Mallick?"

I spun around, to see my father, looking odd in casual clothing, standing by the furnace. I'd forgotten we even had one of those. He looked surprised to see me, and I couldn't blame him. After the incident, I'd put my foot down and declared that I was never setting foot in this place ever again.

But my being here wasn't the strangest thing happening. In my father's right hand was my stash of heroin. I saw the needle I used to inject myself regularly with, sealed in a clear baggie with the drugs, and, despite my fear, I felt longing in me. I wanted that heroin, wanted it with all my heart, and I wanted it _now. _

"What are you doing?" I asked, seeing that my father had opened up the furnace and was about to drop my stash inside it. The surprised look on his face faded, and the expression he now wore was a combination of sadness, and anger. He didn't reply, but merely turned back to the furnace, fiddling with something that I couldn't see.

I swallowed, and I realized that both of my hands were balled into fists at my sides, and they were shaking. Rage pulsed through me, smothering my fear. What did my father think he was doing? He had no fucking right! "What are you _doing? Answer me!" _

Still no reply. My hands weren't the only things shaking now. Panicked and not in control of any higher reasoning, I moved closer to the person who was about to fuck everything up. I grabbed my father's shirt collar and yanked him away from the furnace. My stash flew out of his hands and landed nearby. That same longing made itself known to me again, but I quickly pushed it aside. My father didn't even try to fight back. He simply looked at me with that same expression, never blinking. _"Will you fucking TALK TO ME?" _I shouted, shaking him viciously. The reason I could pick my father up at all was because he was short. Really short. And I was more than a bit taller than him- which I worked to my advantage now. I glared at him, shaking him as though he were a ragdoll. In all honesty, I hadn't the faintest idea where all of this strength had come from- I certainly wasn't a strong person normally. I guessed that my rage gave me the extra strength I needed.

"Mallick," he eventually said. "Put me down." Yeah. My father was a lawyer, but he sure as hell wasn't a fighter. My eyebrows pushed together as I considered this. Should I put him down? I didn't want to- but if I did, my asshole of a father might actually tell me why he's putting me through all of this shit.

After a few moments, I reluctantly placed him down on the ground. He moved away from me and picked up my stash of heroin. I seriously wanted to punch him for doing that, but I held myself back, tugging on my shirt collar once again. Under my fingers, I felt the material tear. "What?" I eventually growled at my father, pissed off.

The expression on my father's face grew hard. He held up my heroin so that I could see it clearly. "I will not let you damage my reputation," he said clearly. "I am one of the highest sought-after lawyers in the country, and if anyone were to learn that my son was a junkie..."

Junkie was such an ugly word. I didn't like it being used to describe me. I scowled at him angrily. "So you really don't give a shit about me, you only care about your fucking reputation. Nice, Dad. Real nice. Never thought I'd see the day when you'd treasure your work over your family." I was being a real bastard to him, of course I was, but it was true. He was more or less saying that if anyone knew that I was as fucked-up as I was, it'd come down on his ass, and he wouldn't be Mr. Rich Guy anymore.

He swallowed, and I realized that I'd hurt him. Part of me felt bad about that, but I didn't let that show. I wasn't going to give him any advantage over me. "Mallick," he croaked, "That's not true."

"The hell it isn't."

Whatever hurt my father had been feeling before disappeared. "Mallick," he hissed, "If you continue to damage yourself this way, you'll turn out no better than the men who tortured you."

That was hitting below the belt. He fucking _knew _this subject was forbidden. And he was taking great pleasure in seeing me squirm, as the memories I'd been trying to forget rushed back into me. They were so vivid that, for a moment, I actually _felt _my body being beaten, my arm being burnt, the flesh melting. I bit back a scream, but, to my embarrassment, tears sprung to my eyes. I knew what my father was trying to do. He was trying to shame me into giving up my addiction, but it just wasn't that easy. How could I give up something that I was physically and mentally addicted to? Something that I _depended _on every single day of my miserable life?

"I can't give it up," I moaned.

"You can," my father insisted.

"I can't give it up!" I shouted, in an effort to hide the fact that I was crying, "I can't!"

He sighed, and I think I saw a hint of regret in his eyes. "I was going to burn these abominations and turn you in to the police," he eventually said, and I stared at him, shocked. He would turn his own _son _in to the cops? "But... I won't report you," he mumbled. "Not if you try and recover from this addiction of yours."

I stared at him, waiting for him to go on. "I'll send you to the Homeward Bound Clinic. You'll go through drug rehabilitation. You'll recover, and everything will be as it was before."

I snorted. I couldn't help it. "Like hell it'll be the same," I said. "I may not be a heroin addict after rehab, but I'll still be fucked-up. That's never going to change. Drugs or no drugs, I'm still not going to be able to be fixed. So rehab's a waste of time, old man."

"Mallick," Dad said sternly, "Don't be smart with me. I just gave you a compromise, and you throw it back in my face. Do you _want _to have a criminal record? Is that it? Do you _want _to go to prison for possession of heroin? Do you _want _to spend time with men who would gladly do things to you that would make what happened before look like a hug? Is that it? Because I can arrange that quite easily."

I sucked in a deep breath. Goddamn it, my father was good at screwing with people. Of course he would be- he was a fucking _lawyer! _Their sole purpose in life was to screw with people. But it wasn't like I had any choice now, was it?

"Okay," I eventually said, resigned, "Send me to rehab, old man."

**APOV**

I picked up the cordless phone and punched in the eight numbers that detective Eric Matthews had been kind enough to give me. I waited impatiently for a few minutes before he answered. "Hello?"

"Detective Matthews, this is Adam Faulkner. Your photographs are ready." I had to be polite when I talked to cops- otherwise I'd most likely end up arrested if I spoke how I normally did.

"Oh, good." Eric sounded appeased. He gave me the location of where he and his shitty son were- some cafe in Main Street, and told me to hurry. "Can you be there in ten minutes?"

"Yeah, sure," I said. I could. Ivan's motel might be a total shit-bag, but it had one thing going for it: its location. It was in the middle of the city, and you could pretty much walk everywhere, provided a car was out of the question (which it was.) I hung up soon after, and changed my beer-soaked t-shirt for one that was somewhat cleaner. It still wasn't great, though, but it would have to do. I didn't pull my favourite blue jacket on, either. The weather was too perfect to be wearing a jacket. I simply grabbed the photos, chucked them in my bag, and walked out of the hotel.

After scanning Main Street carefully, I found the cafe where Eric and Daniel were. After glancing around surreptitiously, I hurried inside.

The detective and his son were sitting at the back table. Daniel was sipping a bottle of coke, and Eric was reading the newspaper. A doughnut lay untouched in front of him, and I wondered if he was ever going to eat it. I was pretty damn hungry at this moment in time, and the sight of the chocolate-glazed doughnut made my stomach growl. I ignored it as best I could and ensnared Eric's attention. "Adam," he said, a half-smile making itself known on his face, "You came earlier than I expected."

I smiled back. "Yeah, well, I live close by."

"You have the photographs?" he asked. I nodded and bent to retrieve them- I'd placed my shoulder bag on the ground upon reaching their table- and I thought I saw a frown cross over the detective's face. I pushed away the feeling of uneasiness and hastily organized the photos so that they were somewhat presentable. Eric took them from me and grinned. Had I imagined that frown? I must have, because Eric seemed perfectly happy. He looked through each of the photos, and nodded with satisfaction. "Good work," he said.

I smiled. "Thanks."

Eric reached into his pocket and drew out some bills. He counted them briefly before holding his hand out to me. I reached out to take them.

And that's when it happened. In a movement too fast for me to comprehend, Eric seized my wrist, letting the bills float to the floor. Daniel dove down to retrieve them.

"What's this?" Eric asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

I followed his gaze down to my wrist, where I regularly injected myself with heroin. Upon seeing it, I felt my heart stop. Because I was so accustomed to injecting myself, I'd taken little notice of what damage the needle did to my skin. I was seeing the result for the first time.

There was a single scar, and it was dark purple in colour. To others, it might have looked as though I was a cutter, because of the precision, but I knew that Eric would know what it was. He had been a cop for thirteen years, and he was experienced in finding needle puncture scars.

Despite the hopelessness of my situation, I decided to lie anyway and see if he swallowed the bait. "I...It happened a long time ago," I mumbled. "It was a very trying time for me."

Eric snorted, and in that moment, I felt my heart sink. "You're a terrible liar," he said, and there was pain, across my chest. That single sentence invoked a terrible kind of ache inside me, deep within my chest, as though a hole had been punched through it. What Eric had just said...That was exactly what Lawrence had said. Eric had even managed to say it in the same scoffing tone of voice.

"Come here," Eric ordered. I did so without question, my breath catching in my throat. I felt so depressed; it settled over me like a humungous black cloud, smothering any other emotions I might have felt in such a dangerous situation. I felt numb, capable of no other emotion aside from sadness. This often happened whenever I saw something that reminded me of the doctor.

I remained motionless as Eric ran his hands over my body, and I was dimly aware that he was frisking me, in a cafe, of all fucking places. I supposed people were watching, but at that particular moment in time, I really didn't care.

Eric swore, and one of his huge hands dove into my pocket. I cursed inwardly. I was wearing the same jeans I'd worn yesterday- the same jeans that Xavier had inserted a few hits of heroin in one of my pockets. Horror consumed me, and I struggled to make a coherent sentence. "That...isn't mine," I choked.

Eric held up the hits of heroin and raised an eyebrow. Frightened, I tried to break away, but his nails dug into my skin, biting into the soft flesh of my wrist. I whimpered in pain. "They're not mine! I swear!"

Eric snorted. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say." He pocketed the heroin and brought out some handcuffs. I was so shocked that I couldn't move. I couldn't believe the horrible turn this day had taken- and it was fault. I really was a loser! The cold metal of the cuffs closed over my wrists, and I instinctively tried to shy away from it, to no effect. Daniel watched the scene with wide eyes, as Eric glared at me. "You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the city."

Oh my fucking God.

I was being arrested.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4.**

**Bittersweet alternatives.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

My hatred notwithstanding, I had to admit that Eric was pretty smart. After my somewhat embarrassing arrest, he'd wasted no time in getting me in the back of his car, and that was where I now sat, glaring at the back of the cop's head. Well, it wasn't like I could do anything else. My hands were bound together, so it wasn't like I could open the door or anything. Even if they hadn't been cuffed, I was pretty damn sure that I couldn't escape anyway. Judging from Eric's perceptiveness, he'd probably put child lock on both doors on either side of me, so only he could open them.

Daniel loved all of this. He sat beside his father, and occasionally, he would glance back at me with a huge smirk on his face. Whenever he did this, I fought the urge to take a swing at him. It was bad enough that I had to be arrested in a _cafe. _I did _not _need some kid staring at me while I was being driven to the police station.

As I sulked in the back seat, I cursed my own stupidity. Why hadn't I changed my jeans? Why hadn't I even _thought _about it? I briefly considered blaming Xavier for all of this shit I was getting into, but I dismissed that idea almost immediately. After all, it wasn't HIS fault that I was messed up. That was all me. My fault.

I sighed and stared out the window, watching as buildings rushed by. Eric was driving slightly faster than the law allowed, but he had _ME_ as a passenger. Had our roles been reversed, I would have been speeding to get rid of me as well.

As the car passed the hospital, I felt my lips curl into a grimace of pain. It suddenly became an effort to breathe, and each breath invoked a fiery pain in my chest. It was the kind of pain that only Lawrence Gordon could bring about. I wondered what he would say if he saw me like this- a drug addict, not even close to recovering from the terrifying events that had taken place just over a year ago. He'd probably snort, and insist that I'd brought it down upon myself. No doubt he'd gone back to his family, and they had lived happily ever after.

I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed. There would be no happily ever after for me. I was probably going to end up in jail.

Jail. That word alone made fear constrict around my chest. I knew what sort of freaky shit went on in jail. Rape. Now, I was by no means a scrawny bastard, but I wasn't bursting with muscles either, and if someone wanted to...take advantage of me, I had no doubt that I wouldn't be able to prevent it.

Unable to hide my fear, I shrunk back into the leather seat. I didn't want to go to jail. I didn't want to be someone's prop. And I didn't want to think about Lawrence Gordon.

What I wanted didn't mean shit to Eric, though. He hummed cheerily as he pulled into the police station, and my fear increased. When Eric and Daniel got out of the car and opened my door (my earlier beliefs were confirmed- Eric had indeed installed child lock), the air was cool in my lungs, even though the day itself was pretty warm. I supposed it was a side-effect of using heroin, as my perceptions were different to everyone else's. "Get out," Eric ordered. Daniel hovered behind him, the smirk on his face almost as pronounced as his father's. I started up from the seat, the fact that I could not use my hands hampering me slightly. As I got off the seat, my shirt peeled away from it with a sick squishing noise. Great. I was covered in a thick layer of sweat. Unsatisfied with my slow progress, Eric seized my shirt collar and hauled me out of the car, his face wrinkling with disgust as he realized just how sweaty I really was.

"Shut the door, Daniel," Eric murmured, not quite as stern with his son as he had been with me. As Daniel did so, Eric shifted his grip on me, his fist gripping the back of my shirt rather than the front of it. His other hand pushed me hard in the small of my back. "Get moving," he snapped. I considered telling him to get fucked, but decided that that would probably just get me in deeper shit. So, I merely shot him a haughty look and began moving. Now, I hadn't the faintest idea of where I had to go, but Eric remedied that. He guided me through the somewhat busy police station, where cops darted around me, many of them shooting me disgusted looks.

When we reached a certain point, Eric dismissed Daniel, handing him a roll of notes- the money _I _had meant to receive for developing the photographs! The kid grinned, and he took off. I let out a long sigh, and was steered into an interview room. Eric sat me down and then left the room, presumably to retrieve another cop. After he shut the door, I heard the lock click into place.

Eric was locking me in.

A fair few minutes passed before the claustrophobia set in. I sucked in a deep breath and tried to remain calm, but it was useless. Alone in this room, with fear brewing deep inside me, I could not help but discover similarities between this room and the one I had been chained in before. They were roughly the same size. The door was locked. And, once again, I was rendered immobile, incapable of freeing myself. "No," I whispered, shaking my head, as though that would somehow rid myself of the horrifying images that seemed seared into my eyes.

Even though it had happened over a year ago, I could still see the soiled walls and floor of the bathroom. I could remember the sheer coldness of the place, and I could recall perfectly the smell of rotting flesh, as I lay shackled in the makeshift prison, beside the innocent man I had bludgeoned to death with a toilet lid.

Needless to say, I was a wreck by the time Eric and two other cops returned. I was sweating buckets. My shirt clung to me like a second skin, and my hair was plastered to my head. Combine that with my wild-looking eyes, and my haggard breathing, I really did look fucked-up. I noticed how the eyes of the two new cops, a tall, well-built guy and a woman not much older than me, took in all of these details, looking as though they were adding it to some kind of mental checklist. I was more than willing to bet that I looked like an actual drug addict now, and that my situation was only getting worse.

I stared at them from my chair, my hands twitching slightly in my agitation, though I was pretty sure that that they could not see it- I made a point of hiding my cuffed hands underneath the table. Eric cleared his throat. "This is Detective Hoffman and Detective Kerry," he began, looking at me oddly. I supposed he was surprised at how quickly I had deteriorated. "They're going to interview you."

Well, at least Eric wasn't going to. That was the first good thing that had happened today. After a brief murmured conversation with the big guy, Eric left the room. The two cops moved forward, and the big guy, whose name I assumed was Hoffman, sat opposite me, while the woman hovered in the background, probably to make sure I didn't make a run for it. That was unnecessary. Judging from the size of this Hoffman cop, I wouldn't even make it that far- the guy was _huge! _

Hoffman cleared his throat and looked me over, his expression not stern, as Eric's had been, but rather fatherly-looking. It was disconcerting, to see that expression on a cop. "Adam," he said, "You are in fact a survivor of one of Jigsaw's traps, is that right?" I nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. Hoffman tried again. "Are you grateful, Adam?"

Those horrible images flashed past my eyes again. I shook my head, trying to destroy those images, trying to rid them from my sight, from my memory, and a small cry of pain escaped from between my lips. As soon as it happened, I immediately felt ashamed and berated myself for letting my weakness show. I glanced up at Hoffman, and he was regarding me curiously. He wanted me to elaborate. My hands shaking uncontrollably, I spoke my next words through numb lips, "H-He left me there to rot. To starve to death."

"And is that why you became a drug addict? Because you felt as though there was no other way to deal with the aftermath?"

I nodded slowly. Hoffman looked slightly frustrated, and I knew that he knew that there was more to the story than I was telling him. "Did anything else happen, Adam?" he asked gently. "Anything else that made you feel this way?"

I glared at him. My problems with Lawrence Gordon were private, and I did _not _want him to know. This cop was treading dangerous waters.

Luckily, Hoffman took my hard expression as a silent confirmation. After a few more minutes, in which he tried to pry more information out of me about Lawrence, with no success, he drifted from the room, and the woman remained behind, for which I was grateful. Claustrophobia tended to leave me alone when I had someone with me. She watched me carefully, treating me as though I was wild animal that might attack at any second. It infuriated me, but I dared not move. If I abused her, then my time in jail might be increased that little bit longer.

So I simply stared at the ceiling, a mixture of emotions stirring inside me: anxiety, self-loathing, anger, and fear. That last emotion won out over the others, and my breathing increased, until I was more or less hyperventilating. The thought of going to jail terrified me, perhaps even more so than the memories of that infamous bathroom. I didn't want to go to that place, where power was measured in how many people you had killed. I would be the bottom of the pack, the one that everybody would use- in more ways than one. I swallowed tightly, in an attempt to control my breathing, and I caught the female cops' eye. She stared back at me, with a touch of concern on her face. My lips worked uselessly for a moment, before I managed a coherent sentence: "Am-Am I going to jail?"

The woman considered me, her expression turning thoughtful. "I wouldn't think so," she eventually said. I stared at her desperately, wanting her to go on, but she refused to. I slumped in my chair, feeling slightly calmer. There was a chance I would not go to jail. I would cling to that chance, no matter how slim it was.

The day dragged by, and I was only allowed to leave the room once- to go to the toilet- under supervision. When I inquired as to why, the reply I received was shocking: "Wouldn't want you to try and kill yourself or something." I mean, sure, I was messed up, of course I was, but there was no way in _hell _I would try and kill myself. I suppose, to the police, it was not an entirely ridiculous idea. I wondered sickly whether it had happened before, whether a criminal had killed themselves so they would not have to be imprisoned.

It was late in the afternoon when detectives Matthews and Hoffman returned. "Adam," Hoffman said soberly, "You need to attend a hearing." I nodded, and inquired as to when, to which Hoffman replied: "Immediately."

The next few minutes were a blur. My cuffs were removed, and my hands were shoved roughly behind my back, where they were cuffed together once again. I looked at them incredulously when this happened- surely they didn't think I was still dangerous? - but said nothing. I was forced into another car, and, thankfully, Eric wasn't driving this time. I did not know the name of the cop who was driving me, and really, I didn't give a shit. I just wanted to know if I was going to be alright. This situation wasn't that much different than the one I had been in before, only my foot was shackled, not my hands.

The next hour was a haze. I stood in front of the magistrate, stuttered through my story (I carefully edited out my problems with Lawrence- they didn't need to know that), and sat back down while they pondered about what to do with me. My breathing, which had slowed down considerably, sped up again, as I looked into the faces of those who would decide my fate, and saw that they were impassive. They really didn't give a shit about me. Great. Fucking great. One of the cops sitting beside me, Fisk I thought his name was, told me to be quiet. I realized that I had opened my mouth to say something cutting to the magistrate, and I closed it hastily, not wanting to get in more trouble.

The head of the magistrate, some old guy, eventually stood up. Realizing that he was about to address me, I also stood up, feeling really gross. They hadn't let me change before attending, and, as a result, my shirt was soaked with sweat. The only good thing about it was that I had not chosen to wear a white shirt today- otherwise it'd be transparent. "We have come to a decision," the old man said. I waited with bated breath. "We will not imprison you, as long as two thousand dollars be paid for your bail."

Two thousand dollars. No fucking way. Did I seriously have to pay that much?

"You also have the option of attending the Homeward Bound Clinic," the man continued. "The city will pay for your attendance, should you accept." Homeward Bound Clinic. Wasn't that a rehab, run by Jill Tuck? When I did not say anything, the old man glared at me. "Mr. Faulkner, you have a choice to make."

Did I ever. I didn't particularly want to go to rehab, but if I didn't, then I'd be proving Lawrence right- that I was a pathetic excuse for a human being. And, if I went, I might learn how to banish the dark cloud that constantly settled over me. That was what rehab was for, right? To recover from trauma and that kind of shit?

Hell, I might as well give it a shot. If I went, then that meant I would get to avoid awkward conversations with both Seth and Xavier, at least for a while.

At long last, I exhaled and glanced back up at the old man.

"Fine. I accept."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5. **

**Rehab re-introductions.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

Sending me straight to rehab right after attending a hearing seemed beyond cruel, but that's exactly what Detectives Hoffman and Matthews did. They removed my handcuffs, and I flexed my wrists, grateful to finally be rid of the cold, intimidating metal. I noted that my wrists were bright red where my skin had chafed against the metal. I was probably going to have bruises later on, but at this particular moment in time, I really didn't care.

I was just glad that I wasn't going to have my ass rot in jail.

Once I was free of my shackles, Detectives Matthews and Hoffman packed me into a sleek black car. It was fairly large- okay, maybe _large _wasn't the right word to describe it. Humungous might have been a better one. Anyhow, the car was cool. The windows were blacked out, and I had to admit, it was kind of cool, being able to look out at others but them not being able to see you.

Because we were driving to the other end of town, and as a consequence, would not be passing the hospital, I could sink back into my rather comfortable leather seat and relax. There would be no pain invoked during this trip, and I would be a bloody fool to say that I wasn't relieved, because I was.

Unlike my other time in a police car, time did not slow down. It seemed to speed up. Before I knew it, Hoffman was slowing the car down, and parking on the side of the road. He and Eric rose before I could, and Hoffman opened the door for me. He had been the kindest cop so far, and I kind of hoped that he'd accompany me in to the lobby of the rehab.

He did, but, to my irritation, so did Eric. Honestly, by this stage, I'd had enough of that sneaky, self-righteous old-

Hoffman's deep voice instructing me to keep pace with him jolted me out of that line of thinking. I quickened my pace, walking up the long cement path that led to the main building. My momentary relief was fading, and fear was replacing it. I'd never been to rehab, and I hadn't the faintest idea of what to expect. Was it going to be a series of long, painful tests? Or was I just going to speak to loads of counsellors and have them write me off as crazy?

I frowned. I didn't like either option very much.

Because of my somewhat naive ideas of what rehab was like, I'd expected the building to be sprawling and gothic, representing the horrors that lay inside, but, when we came up to the main building, it was perfectly ordinary-looking. Actually, I couldn't have been more off about the place. It was large and open; it had a somewhat homely feeling about it. The gardens surrounding the buildings were well cared for, and something about them calmed me down even more. The inside was even more surprising. It was modern, and there were many pieces of art hung up on the cream-coloured walls. From what I could see, there were no death traps here.

Still, better to be safe than sorry.

I hovered idly in the reception area while Eric and Hoffman spoke to the receptionist. They were going to register me for daily visits, as that was as far as the old guy at the hearings' generosity would allow. He'd point-blanked refused to pay for me to stay there for however long I required, and, considering I couldn't pay that myself, this was the best deal I was going to get.

After a few minutes conversing with the two cops, the receptionist walked towards me. She led me away from my temporary jailers, and sent me to a guidance counsellor first. It was a man, and I was sure that I remembered seeing him sometime during my childhood. I couldn't believe he was still around. The guy was so freaking old, he should have retired. Or died.

The visit took all of five minutes. He asked me a few quiet questions about myself, such as my name and age, and even though I knew it wasn't his fault, I felt anger stir within me, and I kept my answers curt. He then gave me directions to a series of rooms. I promptly forgot them but figured that I could ask again later. Upon taking the piece of paper he held out to me, I stumbled towards what I thought was the waiting area. I'd learned that there were two lobbies- one for those who were registering to join rehab, and one for those who had joined and simply had to wait until their next meeting with a counsellor, or whatever.

I'd been slightly worried about getting lost, but I needn't have been. There were plenty of signs about the place, and really, all I had to do was follow them. In a matter of seconds, I was in what was apparently the second lobby/waiting room. To my surprise, the room wasn't empty. About fifteen other people sat perched on green plastic chairs, either conversing quietly or keeping to themselves. My somewhat noisy arrival caused a few faces to turn. The unfamiliar people looked me over, apparently decided I wasn't some kind of mad axe-murderer, and went back to their conversations. I wondered if they were talking about me. I then wondered if I was getting a little paranoid- after all, these people didn't know me, so why the hell would they be talking about me?

I balled my piece of paper in my fist, thoroughly irritated with myself. I didn't know whether I should sit down with the others or stay where I was. After some rather aggravating internal debate, I moved towards one of the few empty chairs. As I did so, I hastily shoved my ball of paper into my pocket. I didn't want anyone here to know my name unless absolutely necessary. It was probably more than a little bastard-ish of me, but I knew that the people here could not ALL be in rehab for drug addiction. My mouth curved into a slight grimace, as I recalled a time in my youth, when Seth and I looked up 'rehab' on the internet. We had been greatly amused to discover that some people went to rehab because they were addicted to sex, although I had to admit that it didn't seem so amusing right now. It was actually kind of scary. I slumped in my chair and stretched my legs out, before crossing them. I folded my hands behind my head and closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing.

Around me, people continued to talk.

**MPOV**

As an added precaution, my father had also taken away all of my money, in case I tried to buy more heroin off Xavier. Though I hardly would have admitted it at the time, it was a good idea. Never mind the fact that I _had _been considering buying more heroin.

I now stood in my bedroom, except that it didn't look my bedroom anymore. All of my stuff had been forced into a suitcase, and my bedroom now resembled a hotel room. It was kind of creepy, seeing no trace of yourself in a room you had spent majority of your life in. The reason _why _I had all my stuff thrown together in a suitcase was because my father had pulled some serious strings for me, to stay at rehab until I was deemed well enough to return home. Though his intentions were good, I still had a slight suspicion that my father was getting me out of the house for some other reason, though I hadn't the faintest idea what that might be.

Upon hearing my father's voice requesting me downstairs, I reluctantly lifted my suitcase from my bed, and staggered under the weight. It didn't look it, but my suitcase was VERY heavy. Letting a scowl twist my face- I hadn't taken any drugs for over a day, now, and I was always irritable when I was on a comedown-, I made my way to my father. He was dressed immaculately, of course, looking more like royalty than something as simple as a lawyer. Beside him, I felt shabby and awkward. My father and I, we were complete opposites. He liked to flaunt the fact that he was rich- I didn't. Well, that was fairly obvious, judging from my overall appearance- I did not look like a lawyer's son.

"Are you ready to go, son?" Dad asked, eyeing me critically. I glared at him. I knew what he wanted to do- he wanted me to go change into something decent. And by 'decent', I meant something like a suit, or, at the very least, neat slacks and a silk shirt. What did he think this was- an evening party? I was going to _rehab- _ I highly doubted if anyone cared what I was dressed like.

He took the hint. Without another word, he took my suitcase from me, and in less than a minute, we were in his sleek black car, gliding along the streets like ghosts. He kept his eyes fixated on the road, though I knew that if he really wanted to talk to me, he could have multitasked. Guilt flared inside me. My own father was so disgusted with me, that he didn't even want to talk to me. I couldn't blame him, but the truth still hurt.

I sat in the passenger seat, and I stared out the window as we drove, wondering if my father could smell the sweat dripping off of me in generous amounts. I hadn't changed out of my clothes- which meant I was still wearing the same clothes I'd worn when I'd arrived at Xavier's party. Sure, it was kind of gross. But honestly? Whenever I was on a comedown, and the drugs were still in my veins, it became very difficult to even manage something as ridiculously simple as dressing or showering without passing out. That definitely wasn't a good sign, and that was the sole reason why I hadn't changed- I was scared of passing out and not waking up.

Personally, I think that excused whatever body odour my father could smell. Better to be safe than sorry.

I could hardly tell that to my father, though. If I did, he'd most likely drive me to hospital. I let out a long sigh, letting my hand drift to my shirt collar again. I played with the frayed edges of the material, and, as I did so, I thought I heard a sharp intake of breath. Confused, I turned my gaze from the window to my father, who was staring straight ahead at the road, his jaw taut. Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that they had gone white. I watched him for a few more moments, before realizing that we were pulling up to the Homeward Bound Clinic. It was large and open, ridiculously modern, and a small sign near the entrance had three words inked upon it, in delicate and meticulous script: _Cherish your life._

I wasn't sure whether I liked it or not, but I decided that there were definitely worse places to stay. As a consequence, I exited the car and followed my father up the long winding path without complaint. As I walked, I wondered what sort of horrors awaited me in there. Was I in for a long series of agonizing tests? Or was I going to be interrogated by a counsellor, and eventually be sent to a padded room to live out the rest of my days?

When my father opened the door for me, I repressed a shudder. My hand didn't move from my shirt collar; even though it was more or less ruined, I still played with the edges of the material, finding the tiniest shred of comfort in that similar action, strange though it was. I thought I heard my father sigh behind me, and I literally had to bite back the retort I had in mind. Swearing at my father probably wouldn't do me any good.

He went to the reception desk and spoke a few quiet words with the woman there, obviously discussing my imprisonment here. After what seemed an age, both the receptionist and my father walked towards me, smiling gently. Unable to manage a coherent sentence, I merely nodded at the young woman and then fixed my gaze on the floor. In a surprising act of kindness, my father engulfed me in a fierce hug. "Good luck, Mallick," he said. Slowly, I wrapped my arms around him, returning the hug. It was not nearly as fierce as it should have been, but then again, I wasn't entirely sure if I was going to miss him. He'd never been a huge part in my life, and for him to embrace me now, well, it was more than likely a show rather than an act of true affection. Whatever. I didn't care.

"Yeah. Bye." The words sounded flat, resigned- as if I was really going to be imprisoned. I supposed rehab wasn't too far off the mark.

My father left the room quickly, and I turned my eyes now to the woman standing before me. She seemed somewhat baffled by my unemotional farewell, and it kind of pissed me off. Did she _expect _me to burst into tears? Did she _expect _me to cry? Well, I wasn't going to give her what she wanted. I was no wimp.

After a few moments passed, in which I glared at her ceaselessly, she seemed to realize that she wasn't going to get the response she wanted from me. Averting her eyes, she led me down a number of corridors, stopping only to talk to this really old guy, who handed her a slip of paper, which she then handed to me. I stared at it curiously. It had my name and age, as well as some basic background information. I was kind of hoping it'd have some sort of extra information on it, like what sort of 'treatment' I was going to have to go through. No such luck. Annoyed, I crumpled the paper and shoved it into my pocket.

We pressed on, the walk seeming to take forever but in reality, probably took no more than five minutes. The woman stopped at a set of double doors. "This is the second waiting room," she said. I gave her a puzzled look. Why would they need a _second _waiting room? Flushing furiously, she gave me a brief but very detailed description of why the Homeward Bound Clinic had two waiting rooms. I barely listened. I just wanted to get in there. Apparently sensing my boredom, the woman held the door open for me. "Good luck," she said, as I boldly walked into what was apparently the second waiting room.

**APOV**

A sudden blast of cold air broke me from my somewhat peaceful reverie. Annoyed, I sat up, surveying the room, with the intention of finding the perpetrator and having a 'word' with him. To my disappointment, I could not determine the culprit from all the other people. "Fuck," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck, frowning. A young woman sitting nearby gave me a horrified look. Well. She'd apparently heard my foul language. Goody for her. I glared at her, and she hastily looked away. However, she didn't let the matter drop. Within a matter of seconds, the people she had been conversing with all turned their incredulous eyes in my direction. I returned their gaze easily enough, and, after about a minute, they looked away. Yeah. I was a badass.

Letting out a resigned sigh, I pulled out the wad of paper I'd shoved into my pocket. It hadn't occurred to me when I'd gotten it, but it might contain some important information. I smoothed the wrinkled paper carefully, and read the writing there. It soon became obvious that this paper did not have the information I needed.

Right then, someone giggled. Though I knew it had to be purely coincidental, it infuriated me, as it someone was mocking me. Ugh. This was _not _what I needed right now. I sought out the giggler and gave them a look that would strip paint. The person paled, and I took some satisfaction in seeing that. I wasn't completely messed up, after all.

As I settled back into my seat, I saw something that made my heart stop.

No. Freaking. Way.

Sitting across the room from me was the Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch- Amanda Young, the woman who'd tried to get me drunk at Xavier's party. Luckily, she hadn't seen me, and I intended to keep it that way. Feeling slightly stupid, I sunk deep into my seat, so that it would be almost impossible to see me from across the room. _Almost. _

God knew what Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch would do to me if she saw me again. I shuddered, and prayed that something would happen so that her attention would be indisposed.

Even though I've never been particularly religious, my prayers were answered. Not two minutes after spotting Amanda, the doors opened again, and a middle-aged woman with sleek blonde hair walked in. Judging from the several nurses who trailed behind her, I guessed the blonde woman must be Jill Tuck, owner of the entire prison. I frowned, confused. She didn't _look _like a jailer...

Jill clapped her hands twice, and she almost immediately had everyone's attention, mine included. Dressed in a simple white lab coat, she somehow came across as a slightly intimidating figure, obviously one of authority. However, that impression melted away when she smiled. She introduced herself as Ms. Tuck, and insisted that we all call her 'Jill'. "Now, I know how each of you must be feeling," she began. "And I know rehabilitation seems intimidating. But we're not here to make you feel uncomfortable. We're here to make you better."

"Like a hospital?" someone asked. I rolled my eyes. What a stupid question to ask! Never mind the fact that I had been kind of wondering about what went on in rehab as well.

Jill smiled. "Yes, that's right," she said. "Now, we have a new program beginning, and all of you are going to try it out for us. It's really quite basic- a buddy program." This statement was met by more than a few groans of complaint. I mean, _seriously? _Buddy programs were for school. We were not in school. We were grown men and women. Why bring back school?

Jill shouted for quiet, and eventually, we submitted to her whims. She told us why they were trying out the buddy program here; apparently it had had been a major success in some other rehab, and Jill desperately wanted the same results. She assured us that while we would not spend all day with our 'buddy', we would be allocated an hour or two to get to know them a little better. I rolled my eyes again. This was so goddamn _lame. _

In other parts of the day, we would have to speak to stick by the timetable we were given. It provided us with three therapeutic sessions a day, along with meals (I did not have all three, as I was not staying overnights), and our 'buddy' time. So, all in all, it looked to be a very busy time here at rehab. I'd be willing to bet that I'd be so buggered at the end of every day that I would not even have a chance to dwell on my depression. That could only be described as 'good'.

Jill spoke a few quiet words with the nurses behind her, and they immediately sprang into action. They produced a stack of papers, which I assumed were our timetables, and Jill brought out a list. I had to fight back a groan. That list probably had our 'buddies' on it. I dreaded to know who was mine. I hoped with all my heart that they still had moral standards, and wouldn't assign Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch to me. Life couldn't be that cruel, could it?

I hoped not.

Jill cleared her throat. I swallowed tightly, unsurprised to feel sweat rolling down my forehead yet again. "Laura Hunter," Jill said. There was a slight pause, as the woman who had stared at me incredulously stood up. Her friends were looking worried. They probably hoped that Laura wasn't going to be assigned to me, the psycho. "Addison Corday."

Laura grinned, as one of her friends stood up as well. The two of them moved to the front, received their timetables, and went to stand behind Jill. They smiled smugly at me, and I stared daggers at them. _If looks could kill..._

"Amanda Young," Jill said, and my blood froze. _Please don't let me be her partner, please..._ "Cecil Fletcher."

I let out a loud sigh of relief, though I was still a little worried. Jill wasn't playing by the rules. Normally, thought of a man and a woman sharing a room together, even in something like rehab, was kind of scandalous. I instantly berated myself for that. Amanda wasn't my 'buddy', so why should I be questioning the reasoning behind the rehab's actions? It wasn't any of my business. I really was a freak.

Jill read through names, none of them familiar to me, and a number of people stood up and joined their 'buddies'. I wondered dumbly if my name was on the end of that list. It probably was.

Finally, my moment came. "Adam Faulkner," Jill read out. Grimacing slightly, I shoved my hands in my pockets and stood up, determined to look anywhere but Amanda Young. Yeah, Laura and Addison annoyed me. But Amanda? She absolutely terrified me!

There was another pause. Though it could only have lasted a moment or two, it seemed to last an eternity. I felt like screaming, and my hands clenched into tight fists inside of my pockets. _Just say who it is already..._

"Mallick Scott." Behind me, I heard someone stand up. Not turning to see what this Mallick looked like, I marched to the front of the room, never removing my hands from my pockets. My 'buddy' moved behind me, in a similar fashion, I rather thought.

When we both reached the front of the room and had received our timetables, Jill dismissed us, declaring that now was our 'buddy time.' I couldn't help the expression of disgust that twisted my face. I still thought this was a waste of time.

Mallick apparently thought so as well, because I heard him heave a heavy sigh. Astonished that I was not the only one who thought this way, I turned towards him and saw him up close for the first time.

He was younger than me, I could tell that much. But it didn't seem to be by much. He had short, light brown hair, a pale complexion very much like my own, and blue eyes that seemed unusually bright and bloodshot, and which had dark circles underneath them. He looked almost as tired and messed up as I did- which was certainly saying something. He wore a pair of much-loved jeans and a ratty long-sleeved shirt that looked as if it had died some time ago. I noticed that the collar was torn.

I opened my mouth to try and manage a sentence that was somewhat civil, when realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I narrowed my eyes.

"You're the guy who knocked me over at that party."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

**Silent mutual respect for similar bullshit.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

For a moment, Mallick looked mystified. Then realization kicked in and his face hardened. "It was an accident," he said slowly, his eyes aflame with anger. I repressed the urge to snort. I mean, really, if that was the case, then why was he so pissed off?

Anyhow, I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his pathetic excuse. "Sure it was," I said. Mallick's eyes, if possible, grew even brighter. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, but I was more than willing to bet that they were clenched into tight fists inside the dark folds of the denim. Perhaps it was a little strange, but I felt an odd kind of glee seeing Mallick flush with anger. Even though I'd really only just met the guy (the occasion at the party did NOT count- I barely saw him for five seconds), I could tell that he was like me, anger management wise, anyway. It probably should have bothered me, but it didn't.

"It was an accident," Mallick insisted, his voice rising. Several passing people shot us guarded looks, Addison and Laura among them. No doubt they expected me, the psycho, to leap up and kill Mallick. Hell, if I could get away with it, I might have done so. Though I took some sick pleasure in pissing Mallick off, the guy irritated me as well. It was because of him that I no longer had any clean clothes left- the beer spill had ruined the very last of my somewhat-decent shirts, and I resented him for it. What with the two thousand dollar fine, along with however much money the judge slapped on me, buying new clothes (or anything else, for that matter) was pretty much out the question right now.

He had made my life just that more shitty.

And what _really _pissed me off about that was that he didn't even have the faintest idea about it. A weird sensation twisted my stomach at the thought. It was like a coil of electricity was burning within me, ready to explode at any moment. Except, well, it wasn't really a coil of electricity preparing to explode. _That_ was my anger, a feeling I'd become accustomed to over the years. It had gotten me in a lot of trouble, sure. But it was a part of me, and I suddenly had a bizarre but not entirely unjustifiable feeling of destructive rage.

I wanted to punch Mallick, hit him so hard that it'd make his whole world go dark. I wanted to wipe that pissed-off expression off his face.

But, asshole or not, I couldn't touch him. If I did, then Jill would expel me from rehab in the blink of an eye. And if I got kicked out, I'd almost certainly go to prison. And that was definitely something I did _not _want to happen.

Taking a deep breath, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life.

I walked away.

**XxX**

The rest of the day was horrible. In backing down from the almost-fight, I opened myself up to mockery from everyone else. It wasn't just Laura and Addison, either. The rumours and whispers came from almost every person I passed. They stared at me openly. They laughed, and I heard the words 'psycho' and 'freak' tossed around more than a few times.

I wandered the halls of Homeward Bound like a zombie, the dark cloud of depression settling over me once again. It was one of the side-effects of abstaining from heroin, and it was one I did not like. However, as there was no heroin to douse the cloud, it grew in intensity the longer I walked the halls.

The only good thing so far about this day was that my anger had abated, and I no longer felt the need to pummel my 'buddy' into the ground. I felt kind of bad about that now, actually, and I felt that I should at least find him and try to be somewhat civil and apologize.

After all, I was here to recover, and I damn well couldn't do that if I couldn't cooperate with the person I was partnered with.

I returned to the waiting room, only to discover that it was empty.

**MPOV**

I regarded the man standing before me with wary eyes. He looked to be about my own age, if a few years older. He had light brown hair that threatened to fall into his eyes, which were dark brown and severely bloodshot. Dark circles hung underneath his eyes, and I guessed that he had had as little sleep as I had, which seemed almost impossible, yet here the proof was, standing in front of me. He wore a pair of baggy jeans, and a short-sleeved black shirt. It was obviously a few sizes too big, as it hung down near his knees, and I wondered dimly if he was wearing someone else's shirt.

Wait. Why was I thinking about that, anyway? It was certainly none of _my _business. I instantly berated myself for even thinking such a thing. God. I was such a screw-up.

The man who was supposed to be my 'partner'- Adam, I thought his name was- glared at me with open dislike, and I shrank back from him slightly. I hated the idea of shrinking away from a fight, since I got into them easily enough, but Adam was taller than me, and I was used to challenging people shorter than me. He wasn't that much taller, maybe an inch or so, but I could tell that he would put up more of a fight than any normal person. I could also tell that if we started tearing at each other's throats right here and now, we'd be kicked out quick smart. Not to mention the fact that my father would be pissed off- I fully believed that the only reason he had sent me here was because he didn't want his precious reputation to be tarnished by me, his own son.

I now had a choice to make, and in a split second, I decided that fighting was definitely out the question. Of course, that was assuming Adam didn't come after me and try to punch my head in, which he looked like he kind of wanted to do. But no, I was going to escape this situation with a shred of dignity, if I could manage it. I pushed my eyebrows together, trying to manage a single coherent sentence that would not aggravate the man standing before me. After a few moments of internal struggle, I managed it. "It was an accident," I said, saying the words slowly, so as to keep back the sudden surge of anger I felt. It wasn't easy, because as soon as I had said the words, I could tell that Adam didn't believe me. And that infuriated me. I hated people not believing me, especially when I was telling the truth. I had been telling the truth when I had said to my father that I couldn't give up my heroin addiction easily, and he hadn't believed me. That had left a sore spot, and now, with Adam's disbelief, it opened that spot, ripped it wide open, and left it sizzling with the rage I had become so accustomed to.

My hands twitched, and I hastily shoved them into my pockets, swallowing back my anger. It wasn't at all easy to do, believe me, but I still wanted to salvage the situation, which was going against my very nature. I didn't usually hold back. Inside of my pockets, my hands curled into tight fists, my ragged nails digging deep into the soft flesh of my palm. It hurt, but I kept the pain off my face.

Adam rolled his eyes, and I swear, that nearly undid what little self-control I had managed. "Sure it was," he said, and while he did not sound overly aggressive, I knew that he was also barely holding his anger in check. I had watched him in the waiting room, before Jill had arrived, and I had seen some of his anger, which pretty much rivalled my own.

"It was an accident," I insisted, unable to help my voice, which had risen. I could tell that nearby people could hear us, but really, I didn't give a damn.

Adam's face hardened, and some of the anger that he'd been holding back made itself known. His hands balled themselves into tight fists, as it he was considering taking a swing at me. Unable to completely hold back my own urge for a fight, I took a step forward, drawing one of my hands out of my pocket as I did so. I met Adam's gaze with my own, and I saw that we both had that same insane destructive rage inside both of us. We both wanted to fight, because settling things with words were beneath us.

Adam glared at me for a few more seconds, before he did something that surprised both of us.

He walked away.

**XxX**

Unsure of what to do next, I walked the halls of Homeward Bound until I came across the old man who served as the guidance counsellor. He looked kind of surprised to see me, but he asked no questions. I asked him directions to where my 'room' was, and he gave me a set of simple directions. My anger abated by then, I thanked him and made my way to the other end of the Clinic, searching the numbered doors until I came across mine, number fourteen. I fumbled only for a moment trying to get the key into the lock, and I soon opened the door and stepped into my room.

It was simple, but unquestionably modern, with cream walls and a dark blue large poster-bed. A set of drawers and a bookcase lined one wall. I let a smile creep across my face, because, really, I didn't think I'd have any problems with feeling homesick now. This room actually wasn't too far from my own room, and that was actually kind of cool. I saw with relief that my suitcase that I'd left with the receptionist sat on my bed, and I couldn't wait to unpack it. I wasted no time doing so, and, I found that at the very bottom of the suitcase, I'd remembered to pack my compilation CD. That was good- I could work on it while I stayed here.

After carefully placing all of my belongings around the room, I shoved my suitcase underneath my bed and sat down on my bed, fatigue catching up with me all of a sudden. I wanted to sleep, but I didn't dare. If I did, then they would find me, like they always did. And I just couldn't let that happen. My day had been shitty enough already. I did _not _need nightmares as well. I briefly considered reaching into my drawers for the medication I had stolen from my father, before I had discovered heroin. They were uppers, designed to keep you awake. I then remembered that my father had taken them back upon his discovery of my dependence on heroin. "Shit," I muttered, laying back on my bed. Damn it, why did the bed have to be so _tempting? _It was soft, and it was begging me to sink into that softness and drift to sleep.

Frustrated, I leapt up from my bed and paced the room. I didn't have to worry about going to any therapy sessions or anything, because I didn't have any until tomorrow. I was on my own for the next twelve hours.

Great. Just great.

I was pondering my next course of action when I heard a knock at my door. Startled and slightly confused, I turned the doorknob and opened the door, to find Adam standing on the other side.

**APOV**

Understandably, Mallick looked more than a little surprised when he saw me standing there. Actually, I was as well. I felt warmth flood my face, as I realized that I was being very intrusive. I instantly tried to think of an excuse for my being here, and hoped that it wouldn't sound totally stupid when I actually managed to say it.

However, when Mallick's surprised expression faded, and he raised an eyebrow, looking expectant, I realized that I had been silent for far too long. I shuffled uncomfortably; I wasn't used to apologizing, and really, I didn't have the faintest idea of how to go about it. "Uh...listen-"

Just as I was about to apologize for the first time, Cecil and Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch came around the corner, chatting animatedly. I froze, staring at them with wide eyes. I desperately hoped that they wouldn't see me, because, if they did-

Mallick glanced between me and Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch, and seemed to understand in an instant. "Come in," he said, a faint trace of annoyance in his voice. I nodded once and hurried inside. Mallick shut the door, just as Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch passed. From my perch on the comfy four-poster bed, I let out a loud sigh of relief. Mallick turned to me and raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking for an explanation.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I said wildly, not wanting to go into detail about Amanda Young and her disgusting fetishes. The apology came easier than I'd expected, and I was jubilant. I didn't let Mallick see that, though. "It's just-"

Mallick smirked. "Oh, it's no problem, really. I have guys running into my room to have weird random emotional breakdowns all the time."

Weird random emotional breakdowns? He had no idea!

I drew my feet up and wrapped my arms around them, glaring at Mallick. If looks could kill, he'd be dropping dead right now. I knew he wanted more of an explanation, but I sure as hell wasn't going to give it to him. The topic about Amanda- along with many others- was forbidden.

I was pulled out of my somewhat depressing thoughts by Mallick's voice. "If you're going to mess up my bed, at least have the decency to take off your shoes." The way he said it kind of pissed me off, but after all, this _was _his room. I slid my feet from the bed without complaining. Letting out another loud sigh, I ran my hand through my hair. I really needed to get it cut, because it was getting pretty damn long, but I really couldn't be bothered. My looks didn't matter to me. All that did was the fact that I could no longer take my heroin, which I lusted after with all my heart. The fact that I needed it but could not have it infuriated me.

Mallick looked at me with an expression of...understanding? It was kind of like he knew how I felt, even though I knew that he possibly couldn't- he couldn't know how much your body urges for the heroin to enter your bloodstream, couldn't know how weightless you felt when it took over your body. At least, I didn't _think _he knew.

It would be kind of freaky if he did.

"You look really tired," he blurted out. I raised my eyes to his, my fringe nearly obscuring my vision when it flopped back over my eyes once again.

"So do you," I noted, returning my gaze back to the tiny scar that laced my wrist. It was so small and insignificant-looking; it was hard to believe that this had been the cause of my arrest.

"Yes, well..." Mallick sounded frustrated. "I don't sleep."

I stared at him in what could only be described as shock. I had never expected something like this to occur. It was kind of exciting, having someone go through the same shit I did. I stumbled over my next few words, "You don't sleep either?"

Mallick shook his head. So, this was certainly something new. Huh. I wanted to ask why Mallick didn't sleep, but I had a feeling that that particular topic was personal. If our roles had been reversed, and Mallick was questioning me, I wouldn't have exactly wanted to open my heart to him, either. "How do you do it?" I eventually asked, deciding that this was not an entirely offensive question to ask.

Mallick glared at me for a moment, before letting his eyes drop to the tiny purple scar on my wrist. He then moved closer to me, drawing the sleeve of his left arm up as he did so. My eyes widened, as I saw that he had a scar just like mine. "Shit," I breathed. No. Freaking. Way. The two of us had the same problem with heroin. He really _did _understand how I felt about the urge for heroin.

Well, my shitty day suddenly got a hell of a lot more interesting. I remained on Mallick's bed, rubbing my stupid scar over and over, as if I'd get some sort of comfort out of it. Mallick never came to join me on the bed, which I guess was a good thing. We may have reached an understanding, but there was the fact that I had nearly started a fight with him earlier today.

I had sunk into a slight doze when Mallick spoke up again. It had been a long while since we had spoken, and I had almost forgotten what his voice had sounded like. "Nightmares?" he asked me, pulling the sleeve down on his left arm, covering up his scar, almost as if he was ashamed of it.

I paused. "You could call them that," I eventually replied, my tone of voice making it clear that any further questions would be rebuffed. Mallick got the message, and he felt silent. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. The two of us stared at each other for a few moments in silent mutual respect for all the bullshit the other had to go through, knowing what had to be accomplished to manage something as difficult as staying awake.

Soon enough, the bell rang, depicting Mallick's 'bedtime' and my call to return home. Detectives Matthews and Hoffman would be my escorts home, and I was willing to bet that they'd come searching for me if I took too long.

I rose up from the bed, and, just as I was opening the door, Mallick came up behind me. "Maybe tomorrow won't be so bad after all," he muttered, as he ushered me out. For the first time in what felt like years, I felt a genuine smile cross my face.

"Maybe not," I said, just as Mallick shut the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

**Chocolate glazed confessions.**

**XxX**

**MPOV**

"Let's talk about your father."

I let out an impatient sigh. "What about him?"

It was my first day of counselling, and so far, I wasn't impressed. As soon as I had opened my eyes this morning, and eaten a substantial breakfast, I'd been whisked away to see one of the permanent counsellors here at Homeward Bound, a woman who was called Joyce Dagen. She wasn't much older than I was, yet the numerous certificates on her desk swore she had all sorts of degrees in psychotherapy. Her office was in the administrative building, the same building where I'd had to bid my father a farewell not so long ago. When I'd first arrived, wearing a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, adorned with a leather jacket, I'd sort of been hoping for a couch to lie on, like therapists always had on TV, but the best I had was a chair. It was a comfortable chair, at least, and I'd wasted no time in sinking into it. The walls were covered in pictures of things like butterflies and daffodils. I thought it was kind of weird, but it was obviously meant to be soothing, so I kept my mouth shut.

"How do you feel about him?" Joyce continued. "About your father?"

I didn't even have to think twice about that one. "That he's a great lawyer and a so-so father."

Joyce scribbled something in her notebook. "Do you want to elaborate on 'so-so'?" she asked.

"It's an upgrade," I said cautiously. "If you'd asked me a few days before, I would have said 'horrible'. What's this have to do with what happened a year ago?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Joyce had an annoying habit of answering my questions with questions. If I knew I wouldn't be welcome back home until I had recovered entirely, I might have considered telling her to stuff it.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I guess that's what I'm here for."

Joyce wrote something else in her notebook. "How do you feel about it? About the attack?"

"Terrified. How else should I feel?" Yeah, even though I knew I was here to recover, I still didn't like opening myself up to Joyce. I mean, she was trying to get information on a subject that had been utterly _forbidden_ even between my father and me.

"Angry?"

I thought about the men's leering faces, and their casual attitude towards me. My hands balled into tight fists. I flinched at the sudden pain, and I hastily uncurled my fingers with some difficulty. "Yeah, of course."

"Why 'of course'?"

I frowned. "Because," I said shortly. Sure, it was more than a little childish of me, but I didn't particularly want to get into great detail about how violated I'd felt- _still _felt_- _after the attack. _That _was none of her business.

"Because...?" Joyce let the sentence hang, waiting patiently for me to finish it. Well, that really was nice of her, but I wasn't actually going to continue on. I turned away from her slightly and frowned at the ceiling.

"Just because," I snapped, playing with my shirt sleeve, trying to seem like this was no big deal, like I didn't care at all. Truthfully, I was actually very uncomfortable. Joyce was used to this sort of shit, used to hearing messed-up people talk about all the hardships they'd been through.

I, however, was _not _used to talking like this to anybody. I honestly could not remember the last time my father and I had sat down and talked properly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joyce scribble something in her notebook. She must have been the counsellor from hell, able to write nearly a page of information about me, when I'd given nearly nothing away.

Joyce saw me scrutinizing her, and smiled. I had a feeling she was about to launch another question. "What about your mother?" she asked. "How is your relationship with her?"

"She's been dead for over five years," I said cautiously.

"Yes, but how was your relationship with her? Did you get along?"

I hesitated. I'd kind of lost track of how all this related to me taking heroin, but according to some paperwork I'd signed before, everything we said in here was in complete confidentiality. Joyce couldn't tell anyone anything I'd said unless she was convinced I was a danger to myself or somebody else. I wasn't exactly sure how my relationship with my now-dead mother fell there.

"Yeah...it was pretty good."

"Can you elaborate on 'pretty good'?"

"I really loved her," I said slowly, picturing my mother's face in my mind. She and I had had a closer relationship than my father and I would ever have, because she _got _me. She'd been beautiful. Well, at least until she was splattered all over the road. The image of her body, lying on the bitumen, bent and broken, flashed into my mind, and I hastily shoved it away. No way in hell I was going to choke up in front of Joyce. "We got on really well."

"Do you sometimes wish it could be that way with your father?"

"He's a lawyer. He does what he wants."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yeah, but-" I stopped. "Hey, you didn't ask a question."

"You think I always ask questions?"

I sighed. "Never mind. Look, he's my father, and as far as he's concerned, I'm a fly in his ointment. He thinks I'm a bit of trash."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because he's always treated me like rubbish, even before he found out I was a fucking junkie."

Joyce looked unfazed at my callous choice of words. I supposed she'd heard worse in her time, what with being a counsellor and all. She wrote something else in her notebook, and then looked back at me, her glossed lips quirking into a slight smile.

"I'm afraid we're out of time today, Mr. Scott. We're going to have to pick this up next time."

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, and frowned. "I thought you'd be giving me some sort of advice or telling me what to do or something. But you just keep making me talk."

Joyce laughed softly. "Therapy isn't so much about what I think as you do."

I stood up, thanked her, and left the room.

**APOV**

I got out of the sleek black car with a little less grace than what I'd been aiming for, and nearly fell over in my haste. Detective Matthews let out a long sigh and pulled me to my feet, muttering about time-wasters. I scowled at him. It wasn't my fault I'd had a sudden and complete lack of coordination. If they'd done as I'd suggested, and woken me at a more welcome hour (like, say, midday, and _not _seven-thirty), I wouldn't still be as tired and irritable as I was. It had seemed like I had just put my head on my pillow back at Ivan's apartment when they were pounding on my door, telling me to get dressed.

I was wearing clean clothes for a change, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel fresher. They'd been a surprise waiting for me back at the apartment- someone had cleaned and ironed all of my filthy clothes for me, so that I wouldn't have to look like a tramp when I returned to rehab. I hadn't the faintest idea who'd done it, but I was grateful.

As I walked up the drive, shoving my hands into my pockets, I heard Hoffman mutter to Eric to stay with the car. I smiled slightly. I liked Hoffman a lot more than Eric, who pissed me off on a regular basis. I wondered whether he was like to everybody, or if I was just a special case or something.

Hoffman caught up with me, swinging his hands and humming cheerily. That kind of surprised me. I mean, weren't cops meant to be all mean and badass and all that? Whatever. I was just happy Hoffman was annoying like Eric was.

Apparently Hoffman was in a _really _good mood today, because he held the door open for me. I gave him a brief look of surprise, muttered a quick 'thanks', and hurried inside the lobby. It was cooler in here, and I was relieved. Although it was only early, the weather promised to be a real scorcher later on in the day. Although I had my timetable shoved into my pocket, Hoffman still went to the front desk to find out what I had to go to first. He chatted pleasantly to the receptionist, and he came back not two minutes later. "You've got an easy day," he said. "Just an appointment with the behavioural therapist, and then the rest of the day's yours."

Well. Just one thing to do today. Actually, that seemed kind of suspicious. Wasn't the whole point of rehab to get me recovered as quickly as possible?

"That sounds good," I said slowly, "But how long does the behaviour therapy go for?"

Hoffman smiled. "It depends."

"On what?"

"On you."

**XxX**

The session was horrible. My therapist was a man called Bobby Dagen, and he ran me through a number of exercises, scrutinizing every move I made, and questioning my reasoning behind them. That really annoyed me, and it took a lot of self-control not to scream and swear at him.

Hoffman had been right about one thing, though. The length of the session really did depend on me. If I was my usual angry self, Bobby would take things slower and ask more questions, whereas if I was cooperative and pleasant, things went along quickly, a pace I was happy with.

"You can stop pretending, Adam," Bobby said suddenly. I stared at him in feigned surprise.

"What?"

Bobby sighed. "I know you're not usually like this," he said, his dark eyes probing. I dropped my gaze to the floor, cursing inwardly. I should have known better that my charade wouldn't last. Bobby seemed to understand. "We have records about you," he said gently, "And it would really do a lot more good if you stopped pretending and let us diagnose you properly."

I sighed. "Okay."

The rest of the session wasn't so bad. Bobby still asked lots of questions, but they didn't annoy me as much as they had before. When Bobby told me at last that I could leave, I exited the room as quickly as I could, with the intent to get some food to silence my growling stomach.

**XxX**

After making a few wrong turns on the way, I'd finally found the canteen, and, to my surprise, it was busy. Dozens of people chatted happily, eating foods I thought must have been too greasy and fattening to belong in a rehabilitation centre. But whatever. Food was food, and I was glad there was some here.

I joined a line of about seven people, and eyed the food laid out before me carefully. There didn't seem to be anything particularly poisonous-looking or anything, but you never can tell. I hastily grabbed a glazed chocolate doughnut and sat at the most isolated table, as far away from Laura, Addison and Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch as I could manage. I wasted no time in eating my doughnut, and soon went back to retrieve another one, all the while scanning the room for Mallick, who was not in the room. "Damn," I muttered, returning to my seat.

As people talked and laughed around me, I watched the clock with narrowed eyes. Maybe it was a little weird of me, but I couldn't wait to see Mallick again.

**MPOV**

By the time our 'buddy-bonding' time rolled around, I was already in my room. I sat on my bed, my knees drawn up to my chest. My arms were wrapped around them, almost protectively. I glared at the door almost angrily. Where the hell was Adam? Didn't he know that we got into trouble if we weren't with our 'buddies' almost instantaneously?

Tired of waiting for Adam, I got off my bed and reached into my pocket. I'd stolen a chocolate glazed doughnut from the canteen earlier, predicting that I would need a sugar high later on. That was smart of me. I didn't intend to sleep tonight, so I figured a sugar high couldn't hurt.

I stood in the middle of my room, eating my doughnut absently, when I heard footsteps approaching my door. I was alarmed at first, before I remembered that I was waiting for someone. Feeling stupid, I opened the door and let the person waiting on the other side in.

It was Adam, thank god. I hastily finished the rest of the doughnut, probably looking and sounding like a real pig, but at that moment, I really didn't care.

I wiped my hand subtly on my jeans, wiping the brown smeary mess away- or rather, just transferring the smeary mess onto my clean jeans. I cursed inwardly, slightly embarrassed.

"Chocolate glazed," Adam said.

I looked at him, slightly confused. Like me, Adam had made an attempt to clean himself up, and he'd done a pretty good job. He wore dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a dark blue jacket over the top. "What?" I asked.

"You like chocolate glazed doughnuts too," he said, smiling slightly.

He had a nice smile, I noted. I smiled back at him. "Yeah. Guess we have more in common than we thought."

"Yeah," Adam agreed.

That was pretty much it for conversation. The two of us sat on my bed, not really looking at anything in particular. It was like that for a while, just the two of us sitting together on my bed, both of us buried in our own thoughts.

"What are your nightmares about?" Adam asked suddenly, turning towards me. His brown eyes were fixated on his hands, refusing to look at me directly. I frowned. I didn't really want to relay my disgusting past to him. When I didn't answer, his eyes flashed up to meet mine. "You don't have to tell me. I was just wondering," he said. His expression changed to loathing- but it wasn't directed at me. He was berating himself for asking.

"No," I said quickly, not wanting Adam to hate himself, "It's not that. I...I've never told anyone before."

Adam didn't say anything. He just sat there, staring at the wall. It was kind of unnerving, and I shifted uncomfortably. If he noticed, he didn't show it. After a couple of minutes, he turned towards me, looking determined. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he said.

**APOV**

Mallick just sort of sat there, staring at me in shock. I guess no-one had ever made that kind of suggestion to him before. I didn't want to spill the beans anymore than he did, but I just had to know what was up with my 'buddy', Mallick Scott.

I'd asked Hoffman about him earlier that day, which had been the only sign that I was more interested in Mallick than was necessarily characteristic of my normal behaviour. Luckily, Hoffman hadn't thought twice about it. "He had some kind of traumatic experience just over a year ago. He's afraid of the dark and fire and doesn't like to be touched."

After saying that, he'd had to return to the police station, and I was left to wonder what had happened to Mallick that had been so fucked-up that he couldn't sleep, was afraid of fire and the dark, and couldn't be touched. I'd cringed at the possibilities- not one of them was in the least bit tame. They had all been pretty damn extreme.

So here I was, offering the only thing I _could _offer to try and find out about Mallick's past, and I hoped that he was at least a little interested in mine. I just hoped that Laura or Addison hadn't gotten to him before I could, because I knew what sort of stuff they would tell Mallick about me, that I was a complete and total psycho, which should be left alone.

"You go first," Mallick said, jerking me out of my reverie.

I stared at him, letting the words sink in.

Damn it. I had to go first. I let out a frustrated sigh and ran my hands through my hair. I made sure to look anywhere but at the man beside me, because I was trying to decide how much I really wanted to give away in return for Mallick's story. Feeling a lot more anxious than I was comfortable with, I chewed the inside of my cheek, not really caring at how much it hurt.

"I was kidnapped," I blurted out, feeling all the warmth spread to my face. I would have killed for a shot of heroin right then, to take away all the awkwardness and tension. But, since that was obviously not possible right now, I'd have to make do. Seeing Mallick's confused expression, I rushed on, "Kidnapped by the Jigsaw killer. He chained me up in a bathroom, and I was forced to sit there for several days, with a shoulder blown to bits." I wasn't going to fill Mallick in on the finer details, such as how Lawrence Gordon had sawed his foot off, how I had killed an innocent man, or how the Jigsaw killer himself had risen from the floor of the bathroom and locked me in, with only a corpse for company. If Mallick really wanted to know, he could always Google it. Since I was a survivor of a Jigsaw trap, my story (and Lawrence's) had been all over the news, because survivors were so rare.

"That's what your nightmares are about?" Mallick asked quietly.

I nodded. "Yeah."

I looked back at him, and there were a mixture of emotions on his face: shock, concern, and...pity. That pissed me off. I _hated _people feeling sorry for me; it made me feel useless.

Mallick seemed to get that though. He took one look at my expression and looked away. It was his turn to confess, but I had a feeling that his scenario was somewhat worse than mine, so I waited for him to gather his courage, wishing I had a chocolate glazed doughnut handy. Since I was unable to get the heroin-induced high I wanted, I wanted something sugary and sweet.

Mallick cleared his throat, and I turned back towards him. He looked nervous...but kind of angry at the same time. Like he was ashamed of something. "A year ago, a group of men ambushed me," he said. I stared at him, my eyes wide with shock. Yeah, I was right. His story was worse- a _lot _worse. He swallowed tightly, and I saw that his hands had curled into tight fists. "The men were all people my father had sent to prison, and...When they saw me, they thought it was the perfect opportunity to get back at him. They held me down, and they...did some horrible things..."

I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging somewhere near my knees. This was absolutely fucking horrible. I didn't want to hear any more, but sickly, I did at the same time. Mallick shuddered and closed his eyes, as if he were reliving the horrors all over again.

I had a sudden urge to reach out to him and comfort him in some way, but I knew I couldn't do that.

Mallick held his right arm in front of him, and looked at me with those blue eyes of his. "They did this as well," he said, in a flat little voice, and I had to repress a shudder, even before I saw the molten flesh that was his forearm. "That's what my nightmares are about," he finished.

He'd edited the experience, making it seem less bad for reasons I wasn't aware of, but, bastard-ish though it was of me, I was kind of grateful. The idea of Mallick being tortured was...awful.

After I had fully digested Mallick's story, I just sort of sat there and took comfort in his presence. I had the idea that he was doing the same, because he changed his position on my bed to something more relaxed, more casual. I saw that he had covered up his burnt arm again.

"What's your favourite food?" I asked him suddenly. Yeah, it was probably a little strange of me, but we had to do a report on our 'buddies', and such information was required. I was also genuinely interested in his answer.

Mallick gave me a small smile, obviously grateful for the change in subject. "It used to be an ice-cream sundae, but I think I like chocolate glazed doughnuts better."

I chuckled. "Same here. Hey, maybe I can sneak a few from the canteen tomorrow, and..." I felt warmth drench my face again, and I felt like kicking myself, "...maybe I can bring you some."

Mallick smiled more widely. "Hell yeah," he said. "Who am I to refuse perfectly good doughnuts?"

We became silent after that, but it definitely wasn't uncomfortable. I shifted my position on the bed, so that I was lying back and listening to the sounds of people outside. It was oddly soothing, and I felt myself being lulled into a light slumber. There was a sudden tap on my shoulder, and my eyes shot open.

"You fell asleep," Mallick said, sounding slightly teasing. I rolled my eyes and sat up, stifling a yawn. Then we both heard the bell that was the cue for me to go home.

"Shit," I groaned, getting up from the bed and stretching my stiff limbs. Mallick slowly followed my lead in getting up from the bed, and he stifled his own yawn.

"See you tomorrow," Mallick said, as I headed for the door.

"Tomorrow," I agreed, feeling cheered by the thought.

The two of us still had a nightly struggle ahead of us, but I had a feeling that it was going to be easier than usual to manage.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8.**

**Day-off discussions.**

**XxX**

**MPOV**

When I had survived another night without nightmares, I dragged myself out of bed and dressed slowly, not even looking at what I was throwing on my body, because it was all the same shit: jeans and t-shirts.

Today was Sunday, and, as a consequence, it was my day off from interrogations and therapy, and I confined myself to my room for the majority of the morning, going through my compilation CD once again. It was a habit I'd picked up ever since I'd been assaulted by those four men, lame though it was, and I still had not found the perfect melody to put someone to sleep without dreaming. My father had let me bring my CD player with me, and I played that same disk over and over, listening very carefully to the lyrics, none of which were sleep-inducing.

Eventually, I turned the whole thing off with disgust. Muttering angrily to myself, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and paced the room relentlessly, boredom catching up with me.

When noon began to approach, I remembered the conversation I'd had with Adam the day before, about him being a very rare survivor of a Jigsaw trap...and how I'd thought about how easy it would be to look it up on the internet. Something as dramatic as what had happened to Adam surely would have made the papers. I glared at my door, wondering if there was even a computer in this prison. Of course, they'd have some for recording information on all the screw-ups like me, but whether they had computers for those screw-ups to use was another question entirely.

Well, I guess I'd never know unless I tried.

Letting out a long, resigned sigh, I opened my door a fraction and peered outside, like a bomb was about to go off right in front of it or something. Glancing down the hallway, I saw that there was no-one about and that all the doors were closed. Relieved, I edged out of my room, locking the door behind me, and slowly crept down the hall. I wondered who I could ask to use a computer. Jill was an option, certainly, but I didn't want to ask her if I could avoid it. She reminded me of a Barbie doll, and she kind of gave me the creeps. Not that I'd ever admit that to anyone, though.

As I walked the deserted halls of Homeward Bound, I felt oddly exposed and vulnerable- and I did not like it. Not one bit. It reminded me too much of the time when I'd been assaulted, and it was a feeling that I desperately wanted to shake off. So, in an effort to do so, I headed towards the lobby of the building, where the receptionist and the guidance counsellor usually were. However, when I reached the area, neither of them was there.

Swallowing tightly, I played with the cuff of my shirt, tugging on it almost violently. I had the disturbing feeling that I was being watched. I turned around slowly, and found myself face-to-face with the receptionist. She looked at me with concern. "Can I help you?" she asked, eyeing me critically. It was kind of obvious that she despised us addicts, and probably only worked here because she had to.

"Uh..." I struggled for a moment to form a coherent sentence. "...Can I use a computer?"

"A computer?" Now the receptionist looked surprised. I guessed no-one had ever asked to use a computer here before.

"Yeah." I kept my expression sincere, so that she'd know that my intentions weren't the least bit devious. She bit her lip.

"Well...I don't know..."

"Come on, _please? _It's really important."

The receptionist caved in. "Okay. But only for a few minutes, all right?" I nodded, and she led me to the other side of her desk, where an expensive-looking computer sat, its screen blank. I sat down on the woman's chair, and started the computer up. The receptionist stood behind me, her eyes narrowed, as though she were still suspicious of me.

Maybe my request had been stranger than I'd originally thought. Oh well.

I performed my search on Google with few results, before I realized that I'd have to include Adam's surname to get the result I wanted. Sighing at my own stupidity, I hastily typed in the words 'Adam Faulkner' into the search engine. Before clicking on the link, I felt guilty for going behind Adam's back for this information.

That feeling was short lived.

_Screw it._

I loaded the page and began reading:

**Latest Jigsaw trap leaves two dead, two injured**

_After receiving a distress call from one of the survivors, Lawrence Gordon (45), authorities responded to 24 Stygian Street, where the latest Jigsaw trap had been in play. Officers arrived to find the bodies of Detective David Tapp (49) and hospital orderly Zep Hindle (52). Local freelance photographer, Adam Faulkner (26) was found unconscious, bound by the ankle via means of a heavy metal cuff. Faulkner suffered from a shattered shoulder blade and electrocution. He is in protective custody at Saint Eustace Hospital for malnutrition and dehydration. He is in stable condition. It is thought that Faulkner had been locked in the bathroom for a number of days before Gordon alerted the authorities. Gordon had suffered extensive blood loss, after being forced to amputate his own foot in order to escape, but is in stable condition at Saint Eustace Hospital. Both survivors are expected to make a full recovery._

I stopped reading and closed the site down, feeling numb. When Adam and I had talked yesterday about what caused our nightmares, I'd known Adam had edited his story, but I had no idea he had edited it that much. What had happened to him was horrible, and I felt a surge of pity rush through me for him.

What really pissed me off about the whole thing was that the perpetrator hadn't been caught. I grinded my teeth angrily, and the receptionist, apparently deciding that I'd had more than enough time messing around on her precious computer, shooed me away. I considered telling her to shove it, but decided that it just wasn't worth it. I made my way back to my room, and, if anyone had seen me, muttering to myself and waving my arms around, they probably would have called for medical attention. Yeah, I probably looked like a total madman, but at this point in time, I really couldn't care less. I was still appalled at what had happened to Adam.

I let myself into my room, and I sat on my bed, glaring at nothing in particular. I guess only Adam could truly satisfy my sickening curiosity about what had happened a year ago, because he had experienced the whole thing firsthand.

Even though this room wasn't technically mine, I still loved it, because it provided me with the privacy I so desperately needed. I was a very private person. Adam didn't know how weird it was for me to allow anyone in my room. Even as a kid, I never allowed any of my friends in my room unless absolutely necessary.

I stood up, with the intention to start up my compilation CD again, hoping that maybe the music would distract me from my jumbled thoughts, when I got a sudden rush of dizziness. I stood, swaying in the middle of my room, and I knew that my lack of sleep was reaching a climax. I knew that if I didn't try and sleep soon, I'd start to hallucinate, and I was in no mood for that crap today. Letting out an annoyed sigh, I sat back down on my bed and closed my eyes experimentally.

I didn't even remember drifting to sleep, but I must have, because I shot straight up in bed, panting and sweating heavily. I raised a slightly trembling hand and stared at it for a moment, before wiping the tears that had begun sliding down my cheeks. Ugh. I was crying like a baby.

I was disgusted with myself.

**APOV**

When Detective Hoffman knocked on my door that morning, and said he wanted to talk, I nearly choked. I mean, surely I wasn't in trouble or anything? I'd made sure to remain on good behaviour ever since I'd gone to damn rehab.

So it was with some confusion that I now sat in Hoffman's huge boat of a car, gliding down the street like a black ghost. Detective Matthews was strangely absent today, and, although I hated that cop with a flaming passion, that made me nervous. Hoffman was definitely more observant of the two, and he knew that there was more to me than a simple drug addiction.

We went to a neighbouring building. It wasn't like a mall or anything like that, but it did have a handful of restaurants, some small stores, and offices that offered various services. There was also a coffee shop, and that was where Hoffman led me, once we were out of his massive car.

A coffee shop seems like an ordinary thing, but I rarely got to them these days, what with my money being taken by the cops and everything. Sitting in a public place (or semi-public) with someone who wasn't trying to arrest me...it was great. "So, Adam," Hoffman began, and I turned my attention to him obediently, "How are you finding the Homeward Bound Clinic?"

I didn't have to think twice about that one. "It's okay."

"Just okay?"

I frowned at him. "Yeah, just okay. I don't really like talking to Bobby Dagen all the time, but the person I'm assigned to is pretty cool." Well, actually, 'pretty cool' was an understatement. Mallick _got _me- and I got him. Hell, we even liked the same kind of doughnut!

I could hardly say this to Hoffman, though. He'd probably get the wrong idea, and he'd never take me seriously again.

"Who are you assigned to again?" Hoffman asked casually, scanning the menu quickly, before deciding on a long black and a custard tart. I wondered if it was just a cop thing, them and their desserts, or whether Hoffman just had a random craving for a custard tart.

"Mallick Scott," I said, looking down my own menu, and seeing nothing there that I could afford. I was more or less broke now, with majority of my 'drug money' being turned over to the magistrate to pay the two thousand dollar fine for avoiding jail time. And it was a real damn shame that I couldn't buy anything, because, god help me- they had chocolate glazed doughnuts for sale. I scowled, annoyed.

"I've heard of him," Hoffman said, taking the menu from me gently, "His father is the best lawyer in town. Better than Arthur Blanc, even." I stared at him. Arthur Blanc, informally known as Art, was one of the most elusive and best lawyers out there. Art had defended all sorts of criminals. It was kind of easy to see why Mallick's father had developed a reputation, and why some people had gone after Mallick himself. It didn't make the truth any easier to absorb, because it was still horrible. But it made Mallick's story that much more clearer, and I was a little closer to understanding.

Hoffman chuckled at my astounded expression, and, before I could protest, ordered a latte and a chocolate glazed doughnut for me. "Yes, Zachary Scott is the best of the best. No, Adam, don't complain- I want to pay for you." He'd said that last bit because I'd opened my mouth angrily, about to complain that I wasn't a complete hobo, and that I could pay for myself. I let out an annoyed sigh but didn't say anything, and dug into my coffee and chocolate glazed with enthusiasm.

Once Hoffman and I were both finished, I stood up. It had suddenly occurred to me that today was Sunday, and that I didn't have to go to rehab today, which meant that I couldn't see Mallick. My heart sank at the thought. Hoffman looked surprised. "What's wrong, Adam? Eager to go home?"

I shook my head; I didn't want Hoffman to get the wrong idea. I actually liked having a coffee with him; it was kind of like lunching with a friend, something I had not experienced for a long time. "No, it's just...am I allowed to go to rehab?"

"What- now?"

"Yeah."

Hoffman considered me for a moment. "Well, considering you're a patient there, I don't think it should be a problem. Do you want me to drive you there now?"

"If it's not too much trouble, then yeah, please." I was trying my best to be polite and not piss Hoffman off- pissing of a cop was more trouble than it was worth, in my opinion. The last time I'd done it, it had gotten me arrested. I personally thought that I had been in more than enough shit to last a lifetime.

Hoffman smiled. "Sure." He paid for the coffees and food, and in a matter of seconds, we were back in his car, gliding along the road. As he drove, and I looked out the window, I wondered what Seth was up to, and whether he was pissed with me or not. It was probably a weird thing to feel, since he had gotten me into more trouble than one person should have to go through in my childhood alone, but I missed him. Troublemaker or not, he was my friend, and I kind of felt like I was betraying him by going to rehab when he was still allowed to run wild.

I swallowed back the sudden lump in my throat, and exited the car when Hoffman parked on the road opposite to the Clinic with more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary. As I strode up the path leading to the lobby, I thought I heard Hoffman chuckle behind me.

Unsurprisingly, the lobby was empty when I arrived, and the receptionist looked surprised to see me here on the one day when I didn't have to go. Hoffman silenced her with an unusually stern gaze, and made a gesture that told me to go for it. I sent him a quick grin of thanks and made my way to Mallick's room.

**XxX**

Like yesterday, Mallick was already waiting for me when I knocked on his door. He was dressed neatly, still slightly scruffy-looking, but a lot neater than the first time I'd seen him. He sent me a tentative smile, which I returned instantly. "Fancy seeing you here," he said, letting me in. I instantly moved to his bed, because it was by far the comfiest place in his room. "Figured you'd still be pigging out on your chocolate doughnut."

I stared at him, confused, until I realized that I hadn't wiped my mouth earlier. Slightly embarrassed, I did it now, and was amused to see chocolate frosting on my fingers. Shrugging, I then licked my fingers, enjoying the sweetness of it. Mallick rolled his eyes at my nonchalance, and then sat next to me on the bed.

I tried to think of something that didn't sound completely stupid to say, when I realized that that was beyond me. Sending another grin at Mallick, I reached into my pocket, and brought out the second doughnut, which was carefully wrapped in paper, so as to not get it covered in god knows whatever was in my pocket. Still smiling, I offered the package to Mallick. "I didn't forget, you know," I said. When his blue eyes turned questioning, I hastened to explain myself further: "I promised I'd bring you one today. Don't you remember?"

**MPOV**

Yes, I did remember. I just didn't think he'd actually keep his word. Still completely mesmerised by the sight of the wrapped doughnut, I took it from Adam and unwrapped it, delighted to see that it wasn't a joke, that Adam had actually gotten me a doughnut.

Without wasting any time, I sank my teeth into that deliciousness and practically inhaled the doughnut in a matter of seconds. Ah, I loved chocolate glazed doughnuts- in a way, they were the same as heroin, temporarily taking away that darkness and replacing it with something bearable. Of course, that probably wasn't the doughnuts alone; I had a feeling Adam had something to do with it.

We sat in silence for a while, taking comfort in each other's presence. I noticed how Adam had made an attempt to clean himself up, wearing that same blue jacket, but over a black shirt this time, and he wore cleaner jeans as well. His hair was still long and floppy, but it didn't look horrible.

"I fell asleep last night," Adam said suddenly. I turned to him, and saw that he had his head down, as though he were ashamed of admitting it.

"You too, huh?" I asked. "How long?"

Adam sighed. "I don't know. Three...maybe four hours...I was fixing my camera when I fell asleep." His eyes didn't look quite as bloodshot as they had yesterday, but I could still clearly see the dark circles underneath them. He licked his lips somewhat nervously and leaned towards me slightly. "I woke up from a dream," he added, somewhat embarrassedly.

I knew what this nightmare would have been about, but I encouraged him to go on anyway. He sucked in a deep breath, before he continued on. "I was in the bathroom again, sitting on the floor, and there was a huge hole in my shoulder. I...it hurt so much. Then I remembered looking for a key to try and get rid of the cuff on my ankle, and I found..."

"You found?" I asked, wanting him to go on, but not wanting to see him in pain, either.

"I found a tape...and _his _voice was on it, telling me that Zep wasn't Jigsaw at all, but another victim. Then _he _got up off the floor, and he locked me there, locked me in the bathroom, with nothing but a corpse for company..." He grimaced.

It was probably disgusting of me, but I was mesmerised by his tale. It was one thing to read about it online, but it was another thing entirely to hear it in person.

"It's the little things you remember the best, you know?" he said, suddenly thoughtful. "Like the way the smell of rotting flesh made me nauseous, but I couldn't move it away or anything, because there was only so far I could go from the body..." After a few seconds, he seemed to snap back into reality, and his brown eyes met mine. "Anyway, that was my completely fucked-up dream."

I sat, stunned into silence. I honestly did not know what to say after something like that. "Thanks for the doughnut," I eventually said. Adam smiled.

"No problem."

We fell into another comfortable silence, and before long, it was time for Adam to return home. He stood up, looking regretful, and I jumped up to escort him out. Truthfully, I didn't want him to leave just yet. I really hated these curfews with a passion. Spending time with Adam, even in silence, gave me the strangest sense of comfort and security.

Just as Adam was about to walk out the door, I stopped him. "Hey."

He turned back towards me, looking slightly surprised. "Yeah?"

I inwardly berated myself for feeling so awkward. As I stared at him, I felt warmth douse my cheeks, and I felt like kicking myself. "Bring me some more doughnuts tomorrow?"

Adam grinned. "Sure."

Then he closed the door, and I was alone once more, though I felt a slight buzz after spending nearly four hours with Adam.

You know, maybe this buddy program will work after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9.**

**Afternoon apologies and self-determination. **

**XxX**

**APOV**

When the alarm clock went off that morning, I moaned and reached out to turn it off, but accidentally knocked it to the floor, where it continued to ring shrilly. I sighed, annoyed, and reluctantly leant over the edge of my bed to retrieve it. I picked it up, dropped it, and then picked it up again. I ground my teeth together, trying to refrain from swearing. I straightened up, bumped my head against the bedside table, and dropped the alarm clock again.

So. It was going to be one of _those_ days.

"Great," I muttered, rubbing my head, "Just _great." _

Just then, someone began banging on my door, like, really loudly. Combine that with the sound of my alarm going off, and it was a hell of a noise. Needless to say, it _really_ pissed me off. "Coming!" I shouted angrily, picking clothes off the floor at random and pulling them on, while the banging persisted, "God, I'm _coming!" _

When I was somewhat presentable, I wrenched my front door open, and was greeted by the sight of Detective Eric Matthews, which wasn't exactly a pleasant sight. To make matters worse, Hoffman was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Hoffman?" I demanded.

Eric scowled at me. _"Detective _Hoffman is away sick," he said. His dark eyes eyed me critically. "You got all your shit together?"

I glared at him. "Yes."

He stepped aside and waited impatiently as I locked the door. When I finally managed it, I brushed past him without another word. Yeah, I understood that he was an officer of the law, but he pissed me off beyond belief, and considering how shitty my day was so far, leaving the two of us together longer than necessary was a recipe for disaster. "Well, that's something," he muttered, once he thought I was out of earshot.

I pretended I didn't hear that.

I just kept walking.

When I got into his car, I spent majority of the car trip glaring at the back of Eric's seat.

**XxX**

I seriously didn't know if it was just today, but when Eric pulled up across from Homeward Bound, but the rehabilitation centre looked ten times creepier than usual.

Even though it was modern and all, it gave me the creeps. It might as well have been a haunted castle or something. I wouldn't have been surprised if there were bats flying around or something, it looked that creepy.

Eric got out of the car, muttering under his breath as he did so. "Let's go," he said, jerking my door open with more force than what the situation called for. I stared at him glumly. It might have been a little unfair of me, but I didn't particularly want to talk to Bobby Dagen today, not in this foul mood. Talking to a therapist today would only result in disaster.

My hesitation clearly annoyed Eric, who sighed and clutched at my shirt collar, nearly tearing it in the process. "Don't waste my time," he hissed, leaning in close- he was so close that I could smell the coffee on his breath. Ew.

Instead of cowering before the coffee-drenched, pissed-off cop, I found myself smiling. "Or what?" I asked. "You'll arrest me again?"

Eric made an odd sort of noise. I wasn't sure what it was, but it sounded kind of like a growl. "Do _not _screw around with me," he said, his voice getting uncharacteristically low. And then, even lower still, "Hoffman isn't here to save your sorry ass this time."

The force of his words didn't have an impact on me for several seconds. I stared at him with wide eyes. He wouldn't seriously arrest me again, would he? I stared at the older man's hard face, and I saw no lies there, and that courage that had filled me disappeared.

_Shit._

Eric must have seen the defeat in my expression, because he smiled coldly and hauled me out of the car. I stumbled and nearly fell. Eric hauled me to my feet. "Stop fucking around," he growled, giving me a push towards Homeward Bound. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and hurried to rehab, keeping as far away from the angry cop as I could. Screw Eric-freaking-Matthews. At this moment in time, even talking to Bobby Dagen appealed to me more than hanging around with a pissed-off cop.

Unfortunately, I couldn't rush off to meet with Bobby straight away, because the stupid receptionist wouldn't let me past the reception area without Eric's consent. The stupid police officer took his time getting there, and I could've sworn I saw a smile creep over his face when he saw how impatient I was.

I decided at that moment that I just didn't hate Eric Matthews; I hated him with a _passion. _

Eventually, though, he had to stop screwing around and get down to business, because, technically, he was interfering with my rehabilitation. And he wasn't allowed to do that.

**XxX**

I had a busy day ahead of me. First, I had to do another session with Bobby Dagen (which was actually quite painful, but sadly inevitable), and then I had to speak with his wife, Joyce Dagen, and _then _I had to visit Jill Tuck, who was apparently going to check on my progress so far. But afterwards, I got to eat lunch (which would probably consist of chocolate glazed doughnuts and a coffee), and then it was 'buddy time'. I actually couldn't wait until I got to see Mallick, because he had a strange ability to make me feel at ease with everything, and that was something I needed. My anger tended to get the better of me more often than not.

At least I had something to look forward to, because I had a really shitty day organised for me.

I made my way to the therapy room where Bobby Dagen was undoubtedly waiting for me, and I sucked in a deep breath before heading inside.

**MPOV**

Joyce Dagen must not have much of a life, because she scheduled our next session two days after our last one. Once I had eaten and dressed to the standard the clinic set. I found myself trudging along the corridor on the way to Joyce's room. I knocked once, and, after hearing Joyce's soft voice requesting me to come in, I sat myself on her comfy armchair once more.

"How are you today, Mr. Scott?" she asked pleasantly, once I was comfortable. Two seconds into the session, and she already had her notebook out. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd written another page about me already- she was that organised.

"Alright, I guess." Well, the day had only just started, so how else was I supposed to feel?

"Do you want to elaborate on 'alright'?" Joyce asked, making a note in her book.

Damn it. She was doing the question thing again. I felt anger kindle inside me, but I swallowed it back and merely shrugged. "Could be better, could be worse."

She made another note. I wondered if she got some sort of thrill out of it or something. "Did you think about what we said before?" she asked, once she had finished writing. I gave her a questioning look, and she smiled slightly. "About your father?"

"Oh." Well, if I was being completely honest, I'd been thinking about Adam. "Um, no. No, I haven't."

"Not to worry," Joyce murmured. "Would you like to talk about your father today, Mr. Scott?"

"Not really," I muttered.

"What would you like to talk about?"

"Whatever you think is relevant."

She made another note. "What do you think is relevant?"

I scowled. Did she ever talk like a normal person? Her never-ending volley of questions annoyed me immensely. I wondered if one of the certificates on her wall gave her some sort of qualification to do that. We held each other's eyes for a few moments, almost like we were challenging the other to look away. Or maybe that was just me being paranoid.

"I don't know," I said eventually.

"Okay." Joyce made another note in her book. "Have you had any social interaction with any of the other patients, Mr. Scott?"

_Patients. _Not junkies, but _patients. _I wasn't sure if being called a patient was any better than being called a junkie, but whatever. I was just glad she wasn't taking a leaf out of my father's book.

"Well…yeah. Yeah, I have."

"May I ask whom?"

I shifted slightly in my chair, remembering the events of yesterday afternoon. It had been nice. Really nice, actually. I liked being able to talk to someone and have them understand me.

There was no way in hell I was going to say that, though, so I shrugged and said, "Adam Faulkner. He's my 'buddy'."

Joyce made another note. "And would you say you and Mr. Faulkner get along?"

"Yeah, definitely."

Joyce beamed. "I think we're making some excellent progress today, Mr. Scott."

**APOV**

The rest of the day seemed to drag on forever. My session with Bobby was only supposed to take forty minutes, but life started being a bitch and our session was prolonged to _eighty _minutes, because the next person Bobby had pencilled in was sick or something, so I got their session as well.

When it finally ended, Bobby smiled and told me I was making some real progress. _Yeah, right, _I thought as I smiled back at him, before leaving the room hastily.

My session with Joyce was okay. Not great, but okay. She had a bad habit of answering questions with questions, so I often had to literally bite my tongue so I wouldn't say anything that would offend her. She asked me about Mallick, and I shrugged and said that he was okay, which was, of course, the understatement of the year. But there was no way in hell I was actually going to tell her how he made me feel at ease, and I could sleep only when he was around.

The rest of the session, and the next, for that matter, flew by. I was still in a pretty bad mood, but the prospect of seeing Mallick again and having a doughnut for lunch kind of lightened me up. I opened the huge double doors and walked into the cafeteria, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. Bobby had told me before that I should be thankful that the only scar I got from my drug use was a small one, because apparently some people picked at their arms until they were pitted with sores. I'd shuddered at that thought, and was suddenly disgusted with the tiny purple scar on my wrist, which was why I had my hands shoved into my pockets at present. I would not look at the scar anymore than absolutely necessary.

I stepped into line with everyone else, gazing at nothing in particular, when Laura and Addison came up behind me. _Shit. _

"Hey, Adam," Addison said cheerfully, poking me hard in the shoulder.

"Hey," I mumbled, knowing that I couldn't snap at them here. The security guards would be on me in an instant, and I wouldn't get to eat _or _see Mallick, both of which sucked incredibly.

The line shifted, and I moved forward to fill the gap between me and the person in front. "Isn't it a _lovely _day, Adam?" Addison trilled, deliberately making her voice high-pitched and annoying. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from swearing my head off at her.

"I guess," I replied stiffly.

"In fact," Addison said, "it's such a nice day that I feel like being nice, so I'll let the person waiting behind me move in front of me."

It took a while for her words to sink in. Then it all came tumbling together as the one person I loathed more than Eric Matthews moved towards me: Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch.

"Oh, _shit," _I said.

**MPOV**

When I finished talking with Jill, I headed towards the cafeteria, knowing that Adam was probably in there. I wondered whether it was okay to talk to him there, and whether or not he'd like that.

Five minutes later, I got my answer.

He was standing in line, undoubtedly waiting to get his hands on a chocolate glazed doughnut, and there was a woman standing beside him. She had short, spiky hair, and she was speaking hurriedly to him, her expression pleading. I was surprised to see that his own expression was one of disgust, and I soon realized that this was the same woman he'd hidden from the first night he'd came into my room. I hadn't the slightest idea who she was, but if Adam didn't like her, then I was pretty damn sure I wouldn't like her, either. When he finally locked gazes with me, I sent him a small smile and slowed my steps bit.

It was a question.

_Is this okay? _

Well, it wasn't. He narrowed his eyes and glared at me, abruptly stepping out of line and walking away quickly, leaving the spiky-haired woman, and me for that matter, frozen in place. I frowned, my expression becoming one of anger, in an attempt to hide the hurt I was feeling.

Letting out a soft sigh, I turned back the way I came, ignoring my pleading stomach.

**XxX**

I spent the remainder of the day locked up in my room. Of course, the people who'd built these rooms had conveniently forgotten to install locks on the doors, so I'd made my own sort of lock: I'd pushed my chest of drawers up against the door, effectively locking myself in and everyone else out.

I glared at the doorknob when it began to turn. Adam was on the other side, I was sure of it. Well, screw him. I wasn't going to let him in.

"Mallick?" Adam's voice was muffled. He sounded upset. "Mallick, can I come in?"

I didn't answer. I started playing with my shirt collar again, out of sheer nervousness. I didn't trust my voice right now. My father was right. I _was _a little weakling, at least where Adam was concerned.

"Mallick, _please!" _Now Adam sounded upset, angry, and panicky. Letting out a sigh of defeat, I went over to the door, pushed the drawers away, and let him in.

When he saw me, he looked up. He looked really upset. I stood aside and let him walk in. When he took his usual place on my bed, he ran his fingers through his hair nervously. "You're mad at me, huh?" he asked softly. His tone was sad.

I merely glared at him.

Adam sighed regretfully. "I didn't mean to come across as such a dickhead today," he said. "I really didn't. Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch was harassing me, and-"

I snorted. I was actually more amused than angry, but since I had my head down and was staring at the floor, Adam couldn't know that. It was obvious he didn't want to see me in the company of other people, but I didn't hear an apology in that speech, so I simply sat there next to him on the bed, waiting for him to say the words.

"Hey, look at me," Adam ordered softly, his voice simmering with anger. It wasn't directed at me, but rather, at himself.

And because my father was right and I was weak, I did. I was so stupid sometimes.

"Forgive me?" he asked, his expression pleading.

I suddenly realized why he was so desperate to get me to forgive him; I was the only person he spoke to willingly in this whole place, and I _got _him. And never mind the fact that he meant the same to me. It was kind of a weird feeling, but it was a _nice _feeling, so I nodded. Adam grinned and put his hand into his pocket, emerging with a perfectly wrapped chocolate glazed doughnut. "For you," he said.

I took it and began eating with great enthusiasm. Adam laughed. "How did you get it?" I asked. He looked at me questioningly. I hastened to make my meaning clearer. "I mean, how did you manage to get this doughy when you walked out of the cafeteria?"

Adam smiled. "Well, after I left, I remembered that I promised to bring you a chocolate glazed every afternoon, so I went back just before lunch ended and got a whole heap of them."

"You have more?" I mean, yeah, I was being weak, but I was _enjoying _it. And it didn't matter that the doughnut tasted even better than usual.

Adam fished around in his pockets, and pulled out another two doughnuts. He handed me one and started eating the other. "Tell me who this Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch is," I said once my mouth was completely devoid of chocolate doughnut.

Adam smiled. "That's my nickname for Amanda Young." There was obviously more to the story, so I urged him to continue. He did. "When I was…you know, a junkie, I went to this party. And she tried to hit on me." He shuddered.

"Was she drunk?" I asked.

Adam grimaced. "Ugh. Yes, I think she must have been."

I asked no more questions, because Amanda was obviously a touchy subject for Adam to speak about, and today had already been crappy enough without more awkwardness. So the two of us just sat there, enjoying each other's company while we could.

As I sat there, feeling unusually serene, I cast my thoughts back to the time when my father had said I was weak for taking heroin, that I was weak and hopelessly pathetic, just like all the other junkies in the world. _You know what, Dad? _I thought, balling the doughnut wrapper in my fist, _Maybe you're right. Maybe I am weak. But you know what else, Dad? I'm __**enjoying**__ it. _

That was the truth, plain and simple. It felt so much better out there in the open: I was weak for needing Adam so much, but then again, he made me stronger, too.

Maybe thinking about him drew his attention, but Adam looked up and grinned at me. Steeling my resolve with a newfound confidence, I grinned back at him. I would make this work. I'd give Adam the friendship he seemed to want. I'd do it, and be a little weak in the process. But in return, I'd gain plenty myself. Someone to spend my long, dreary afternoons with. Someone who made me feel comforted and safe.

Weak had nothing on that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10.**

**Birthday Ill-wishes.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

What with me spending nearly a week at Homeward Bound, my life fell into a kind of routine: I'd wake up, get dressed, be whisked to rehab by Hoffman and Eric, stumble through a day's worth of therapy, and meet with Mallick in the afternoons. After spending so much time lazing about and injecting hits of heroin, a routine was just what I needed. I still occasionally felt that urge to get high, but even those were few and far between.

That wasn't the only thing that had changed about me, either. I'd started dressing properly, and had even managed to find some time to clean up my apartment a little. In one of those rare moments where I was able to just sit down and think, I'd often wonder what I'd be like when I came out on the other side. Maybe I'd be even more pedantic than I was now.

Pedantic or not, I had to admit that I was enjoying myself.

The days began to melt together, so much so that I couldn't really tell when my first week ended and a new one began. That's just the way it is when you're enjoying yourself. Time seems to speed up.

The afternoons were the best part of the day, because that was when I could see Mallick. As the days passed, we soon found other things to do other than eat chocolate glazed doughnuts, although we still ate those as well. It had become part of our routine. I'd go into Mallick's room, we'd pig out on the doughnuts, and then we'd just do whatever came to mind.

**XxX**

At present, both of us were seated on Mallick's bed, eating our way steadily through our chocolate glazed doughnuts. Mallick seemed to be enjoying his immensely, as he'd gotten chocolate icing all over himself. I grinned. I had no idea what we'd end up doing after this, but I was enjoying myself nevertheless.

Rehab really had begun to change me.

Licking the last of the icing off of my fingers, I glanced around Mallick's room. Over the past ten days, he had brought more and more stuff out of his suitcase, effectively making the room look more lived-in. He now had a CD player out, as well as seemingly endless piles of CDs. A piece of paper was tacked to the wall, and it had numerous band names scratched onto it in red ink. I stared at it, perplexed. Didn't Mallick know what his favourite band was, or something? _Oh well. It's not your business, anyway. When Mallick wants to tell you, he'll tell you. _I shrugged. It was probably nothing.

However, the calendar pinned next to the piece of paper _was. _I started up from the bed and peered at it more closely, not at all sure that what I was seeing was true. "No _way," _I said.

"What is it?" Mallick asked from his perch on the bed.

I didn't answer; just grinned stupidly. My mood had just risen from 'cheerful' to 'ecstatic'.

I heard Mallick get up from the bed. "What is it, Adam?" he asked again.

I turned to him, grinning like an idiot. "Tomorrow's my twenty-eighth birthday."

**XxX**

When Hoffman came knocking on my door the next day, I was already out of bed and dressed, and had eaten a substantial breakfast. Why was I so pumped today? Well, after all the usual routine at Homeward Bound, Mallick and I were going to celebrate in his room this afternoon, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. I didn't expect any presents, but for some reason, it was okay this year. I'd be spending my birthday with a friend, which is a lot better than a lot of my previous birthdays. Me and Mallick. Alone. In his room. Celebrating my birthday. This might very well be worth all the crap I'd been through this year.

"You look happy today," Hoffman commented, as we made our way down the stairs, "Can I ask what the occasion is?"

"It's my birthday," I said simply. Hoffman goggled at me.

"Well, happy birthday!"

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, my foot slipped on the strangely damp carpet. Hoffman instantly reached out to steady me. I had a weird moment of déjà vu, flashing back to a time when someone else had saved me from a similar fall. I had been so drugged up that even walking proved a challenge. I swallowed tightly; I didn't want to spoil today with disgusting memories. However, the memory left its mark; I felt cold all over, and Hoffman's arm felt oddly warm on my arm.

"You okay?" Hoffman asked, concerned.

I shook myself out of that weirdness. "Yeah. I'm good."

Hoffman let go of my arm, and we made our way across the reception area. Surprisingly, Ivan was sitting at his desk, his miniature poodle, Chance, settled down around his feet. He was turning the pages of a magazine, yawning every so often. It was obvious, even to me, that he had been up all night. What he had been doing, I hadn't the faintest idea, but being the owner of this crappy building, he had to deal with drunks and whatnots all the time. It was fairly common to be woken up by someone's drunken yells late at night.

When Hoffman walked up to the desk, holding my apartment keys in one hand, Ivan seemed to jerk out of the daze he had been in. He set his magazine aside and leaned as far as his huge stomach would allow to take the keys off of Hoffman. "Thank you, Detective Lieutenant," he said, rubbing his eyes with a fat fist. Hoffman smiled vaguely and turned to go, but as he did so, Ivan seemed to realize that I was with him. I honestly don't know why he seemed so surprised; I had been exiting the building with either Matthews or Hoffman for quite a while now. "Ah, Adam," he said, wiping his eyes again, "Heard it was your birthday. Many happy returns."

"Uh, thanks." I turned to go, but Ivan called me back. I noticed Hoffman had a strange look on his face; like he was suspicious or something.

I leaned on the reception desk lazily, and I raised an eyebrow at Ivan questionably. He coughed and sputtered into his fist (the man was obviously not well), before reaching into a drawer. "Got something for you," he said. After a few more moments of rustling in the drawer, he pulled out an envelope. On it was my name, in an untidy scrawl. "Here you go," he said, handing it to me. I took it and shoved it in my pocket, curiosity rising up in me like an angry snake, but if it was bad, I'd rather open it later rather than sooner. I was determined to make this day a good one.

Besides, out of sight, out of mind, right?

"We'll see you later," Hoffman said curtly, escorting me out.

As the door closed, I could still fear Ivan's gaze upon me.

**MPOV**

The past two weeks went by in an amazing blur of rehab, chocolate glazed doughnuts, and silent mutual respect. The late afternoons were the best. It was kind of messed up how late afternoons/early evenings used to be my least favourite time of day, and now it had completely changed.

The two of us had fallen into a routine, and I think we were both grateful for it. Well, I knew I was. I was by no means ready to approach my father yet, but I was definitely on the path to recovery.

When the afternoons rolled around, we'd eat our chocolate glazed as usual, and then just do whatever came to mind. We had once just sat there, Adam looking more distraught than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. I'd automatically came to the conclusion that he'd fallen asleep sometime during the day, and, when I questioned as to what it had been about, he got that distant look on his face that he always got when his thoughts turned to the Jigsaw Killer. So I had told him what some of my dreams were about. Blood for fire. Bullets for knives. It had seemed only fair. And after we had finished 'burdening' each other, we just sat there and ate more chocolate glazed doughnuts, attempting (and succeeding) at creating a lighter atmosphere. We had both made an agreement that we would not let our dreams wreck another second of our lives when it wasn't necessary.

And things only improved from there. Adam had told me yesterday that today was his birthday, and I was now left with the problem of finding out what exactly to get him. Because while we had shared some of our deepest secrets with each other, I hadn't the faintest idea what he was into.

I was standing in my room, hands shoved in my pockets, trying to recall a time when he mentioned something that he liked, aside from chocolate glazed doughnuts. "Shit," I muttered, scowling at the wall. He'd told me he didn't expect any presents, but I wasn't about to let that happen.

I sighed. I'd think of something eventually.

**APOV**

Once Hoffman had dropped me off at Homeward Bound (he didn't walk in with me anymore; he apparently trusted me enough to be able to walk in by myself), the receptionist called me over to her desk. I walked over, curiosity burning. "Yeah?"

The receptionist shuffled some papers on her desk. "Many happy returns, Mr. Faulkner."

I stared at her for a moment, puzzled. Then I smiled. "Thanks." I made as if to move away, but the receptionist called me back again.

"Mr. Faulkner, as part of our policy, you are allowed to make one phone call to a friend today, free of charge, to any you like."

I stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

I felt a smile creep over my face. "Uh, wow." I frowned slightly, as I wondered who I could call. There was no point in calling Mallick, because I could just walk over to his room, but I hadn't the faintest idea who else I could call. I couldn't call my parents, because they had more or less disowned me when they discovered I was a junkie, and I had no other living relatives. Damn. This was going to be harder than I thought.

The receptionist's voice jerked me out of my thoughts. I stared at her for a moment, and realized that she'd asked me a question. "Uh, what?"

She smiled patiently, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child. That kind of pissed me off, but I was still trying to decide whom to call, so I let it slide. "I asked you who you were going to call?"

"Oh. Well, I don't know yet."

"Go take some time to think on it," the receptionist suggested, "And come back when you know. I'll be here."

I did just that.

**XxX**

After a brief meeting with Bobby Dagen, who informed me that he had accidentally filled my time slot with someone else (Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch, actually), there was no real point in me hanging about his office. I was grateful for that. Bobby was a tool, but he was actually quite a tough therapist. I guess when you have so many tough patients, you can't exactly afford to be all sweet and nice. Still, I knew what he was doing. It was a lame excuse, but who was I to knock back some free time? I wasn't stupid, despite what that receptionist might think of me.

So now I was wandering the halls of Homeward Bound quite aimlessly, still wondering who on earth to call. I guess it was a little lame of me to get so pumped about something as ordinary as a phone call, but what most people don't realize is how isolated rehab really is. You aren't allowed to make phone calls, in case you get someone to smuggle weapons or illegal substances to you, and you certainly aren't allowed out on the streets after hours. They keep an eye on you. Though I was endlessly grateful to Jill and Homeward Bound for treating me, I was in lockdown the moment I entered my apartment. Once I went in, I wasn't allowed out until Hoffman or Matthews came to collect me the next morning. I could climb out the window, if I wanted to risk breaking my neck. For rich people like Mallick, they had the option of staying at Homeward Bound, where they were watched even more closely than I was.

So I guess I had every right to get excited about a phone call, because it was a temporary ticket to the outside world.

Then it just hit me.

Seth. I could call Seth.

He was a friend of mine, no matter how screwed-up he was. Yeah. I could ring him, and see how he and Angelina were. Though it had only been just over two weeks since I last talked to him, I missed him like crazy. We had been friends since high school. I _owed _him.

I wasted no time in making my way back to the receptionist. She raised an eyebrow when she saw me approaching. "Didn't think I'd see you back here so quickly," she said. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow, silently asking her what she was insinuating. She didn't rise up to the challenge. She asked me who I was going to call, holding a phone book in hand, and I told her to look up Seth Baxter. Baxter was not a common name, so she found it in a couple of seconds. She dialled the number, and held the receiver out to me.

"Thanks," I said, taking it from her and holding it to my ear. She remained standing where she was. I glared at her, silently commanding her to move. I didn't want her to listen in on my conversation.

She tossed her hair impatiently. "I'm not allowed to leave you alone."

Great. Just great. She was going to listen in on my conversation, and be a massive distraction. Sighing, I turned away from her. Out of sight, out of mind.

The phone rang four or five times before Seth picked up. "Yeah?" His voice was slightly slurred, and I guessed that he had been drinking before picking up the phone. In the background, I heard a woman laugh shrilly. Angelina. Had to be.

"Hey, Seth, this is Adam."

"Wha'?"

I sighed. This was the Seth I knew. Stupid and forgetful, as always. "This is Adam."

"Adam? Man, is that seriously you?"

"Yeah."

Seth let out what must have been a laugh, but it sounded more like a drunken roar. _Damn. _"It's about fucking time, man. I wondered where the hell you were. Angie here reckons you'd fallen into a ditch and died or some shit."

I chuckled, but there was a knot of dark, uneasy feelings inside me. Sooner or later, I'd have to tell him where I was, and why I hadn't been able to keep in contact. "That was very nice of Angie to say that. Tell her thanks for having so much faith in me."

"I will, man. I will. Hey, so where the hell _were _you these past few weeks? Believe it or not, I've actually been worried about your scrawny ass." There was genuine concern in his voice, and it didn't make me feel any better. I was going to have to tell him, and _soon. _

"I've been called away," I said evasively, hoping that he'd be distracted as so many drunken people often are.

"Away? Where to?"

_Shit. _"Just…away."

Seth sucked in a sharp breath. "You're not in any trouble, are you, Adam?" Though the question was innocent enough, I heard the threat underneath it. Those dark feelings in me grew stronger. I hated it when he got like this. He was impossible to argue with.

I sighed. "Not exactly." Behind me, I heard the receptionist chuckle darkly. I turned around and gave her my angriest stare. It worked. She deflated before my eyes, and moved her gaze elsewhere.

"Then tell me what the fuck it is, Adam. I'm your friend. I _deserve _to know." The threat was more pronounced now.

I swallowed tightly. Screw it. He _did _deserve to know. "I-I'm in rehab." I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow to fall.

I didn't have to wait for long. "Son of a _bitch!_" Seth swore. Wincing, I held the receiver away from my ear. "What the _fuck, _Adam?"

"I couldn't exactly help it, you know," I said defensively. "A cop arrested me."

"_You stupid fuck!" _

I didn't say anything to that, because it was the truth. I _had _been stupid that day.

There was a long silence. "That pisses me off, Adam," Seth said finally. "It _really_ pisses me off."

I didn't reply. In the background, I heard Angelina ask Seth something. What I heard next was appalling. He roared at her drunkenly, and then, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh rang through my ears. I winced, wanting to put the receiver back on the hook, but not wanting to at the same time.

"I have such a _temper," _Seth said mildly, almost lightly. Then he seemed to become focused again. "You're going to regret this Adam, you really are."

He hung up. I stared at the receiver for a moment before placing it on the hook. I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second and then opened them.

"I'm really tired."

The receptionist stopped mid-sentence. I had no idea what she had been saying before I interrupted her. "I'm really tired," I repeated. I could hear the hollowness in my own voice. Empty. No emotion. "Thanks for the phone call, but if you don't mind…"

"Of course," she said stiffly. "I'll let you get on with business, then."

She thought I was on a comedown from using heroin again, I could tell. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't that.

But I was too caught up in my own personal drama to say a word. I felt like someone had ripped my heart out and tossed it to the other side of the room. There was a burning, agonizing pain in my chest. It was one thing to accept that I was a drug addict and needed to be treated, but it was something entirely different to know that I'd lose friends over it.

I didn't waste any time in walking into the second lounge. No-one was there, because they all had a meeting with some counsellor or other. I considered going to Mallick's room, but then dismissed the idea. I didn't have enough energy to do that. So I sat down on one of the plastic chairs and just sat there, thinking. Thinking and imagining.

I spent the rest of the day doing little more than that. I skipped lunch. I skipped my appointment with Joyce Dagen. I even skipped going to Mallick's room. I shed a few tears. But mostly, I just sat there thinking, and growing more and more depressed y the minute. I discovered that the only thing worse than not having Seth as a friend anymore was remembering the times when we had been friends. He would never talk to me again, never do crazy stuff together again…

This was the worst birthday ever.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11.**

**Unexpected Nasty Surprises.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

Honestly, the meeting Jill called couldn't have come a moment too soon. It was impossible to get Seth out of my head, but at least the hustle and bustle of other people made sure that I didn't devote 100 percent of my brain power to him. More like 95 percent.

I had other things to distract me, too. Homeward Bound might- rightfully- be overprotective when it came to its' patients, but sometimes that led to some pretty cool stuff. I'd never thought I'd see the day when I'd be glad to go the gym, but what with everything that was going on, taking on a punching bag suddenly seemed like the best idea. Never mind the fact that I had put on a little weight since my arrival here.

We'd all gathered in the meeting room earlier that day (well, everyone else had –I'd already been there), and Jill had announced that as part of their new program, we were headed to Homeward Bound's gym to exercise, and, hopefully, let out some frustration. We'd be escorted by a couple of security guards, but still, I thought the whole idea was still pretty cool. I'd get to talk to Mallick some more, and apologize for missing the birthday celebrations yesterday.

We all left a little later, and trudged down a new set of hallways that was exactly like the rest. I looked around for Mallick, wanting to talk to him, but I couldn't see him around. I hoped he wasn't too offended by my missing the celebrations yesterday. The last thing I needed right now was another person pissed at me.

As we walked the hallways, my thoughts turned to Seth once again. What would be do? Because I knew he'd do _something. _He never left a threat unattended- that was why the two of us had gotten into so much trouble when we were kids.

"_You're going to regret this, Adam. You really are." _

I shook my head, wanting to be rid of the voice that had taunted me constantly since the phone call yesterday. I'd tried to sleep, but vivid images of Seth pointing a bloodied blade at me and whispering, _"You're going to regret this, Adam," _over and over, before the face I knew so well transformed- _melted _seemed like a better word to use here- into the face of the Jigsaw Killer, whom I had seen only once but remembered vividly as well.

I'd woken up from this dream with a scream just behind my lips.

"Are you all right, Adam?" Thank God for small favours. Bobby Dagen had somehow ended up beside me in the confusion the throng provided, and he was looking at me now with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I said, a shade too late. My mind didn't seem to be working properly, what with Seth and all.

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked, frowning.

"_Yes." _

"Okay." He let the matter drop, although I could tell he still didn't believe me. He smiled. "You're going to enjoy this, Adam. It's going to be a real treat."

**XxX**

And it was.

I tried to keep reminding myself that we were here because we were addicted, that we were messed up in one way or another. No one else seemed to remember that, though, and I had to admit, I was having a difficult time myself.

Much like the rest of Homeward Bound, the gym was light and open; extraordinarily modern when one considered what Homeward Bound actually was. There was just the one room, but it was so enormous that it hardly mattered. Even with all sorts of exercise equipment strewn everywhere, there was still so much room. The windows were huge and open; sunlight danced through, making the whole place that much more appealing.

I did get to take a spin on the punching bag, for which I was grateful. Completely ignoring everyone else around me, I began punching the crap out of it. I wasn't pushing it as far as some guys were, but I was enjoying myself nevertheless. Never mind the fact that I was pretending that it was Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch's head- hence why I was hitting it so hard.

"Adam."

Startled, I turned around, and found myself face-to-face with Mallick. "Hey," I said, surprised. Mallick didn't seem upset that I'd missed the celebrations last night. That was weird, but if he wasn't upset, then hell, I wasn't complaining.

Mallick smiled. "Hey yourself." His eyes swept over my face, taking in the layer of sweat, my flushed cheeks. "You look like you've been enjoying yourself," he said.

I grinned. "Yeah. I've been pretending its Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch's head."

His smile faded slightly. "Heaps of people I'd like to punch out," he said, sounding kind of sad and angry at the same time. I stood aside and let him have a go at it, since I could tell he really wanted to let out some frustration. Besides, I was kind of knackered at that point, anyway.

We were silent for a while after that, but it wasn't all that uncomfortable. I was still wondering why Mallick hadn't brought up the skipping of the birthday celebrations when he finally gave up on the punching bag. He doubled over, panting heavily, his face as flushed as mine had been. Once he had caught his breath, we both made our way to one of the lounges that wasn't being used- yet another bonus.

I stared at my feet rather absently, fighting to keep Seth out of my head. I wasn't doing too good a job, and I hoped Mallick wouldn't bring up the birthday celebrations just yet, because this was something I had to concentrate on. Like the real Seth Baxter, this imaginary Seth was persistent, and didn't want to go without a fight.

"Hey, Adam?"

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you come over last night?" Mallick sounded hurt. _Shit. _I breathed in sharply, hoping Mallick wouldn't notice my sudden anxiety. I'd been planning to make some sort of excuse, but what with Seth and all, the ones I had come up with were instantly forgotten in my panic. Any excuse that came to mind right now sounded feeble and weak, and Mallick wouldn't believe bullshit like that, anyway. It also wouldn't feel right to outright lie to him, not when he had been so open with me.

I'd have to tell the truth, and pray that he'd forgive me. He would, though, right? Because, if he didn't…

I sighed. I didn't want to think about that. If I did, I might just go crazy- and I already had too many problems stressing me at the moment. My parents had disowned me, so I got no financial help from them anymore. My friendship with Seth was in shambles. And then, of course, there was Lawrence…

"I'm really sorry," I blurted out.

He gave me a sidelong look. "Why didn't you come?"

"I had some…problems…to deal with." Technically, that was the truth. Seth was a problem- a _big _problem.

"Problems?" Mallick inquired lightly.

Screw it. He deserved to know. After all, he'd confided in me, and to not do so now would be wrong. "I got to call one of my friends yesterday. Because it was my birthday. I thought I'd call one of my close friends, you know, and I thought everything would be all right…" I was suddenly too choked up to continue.

Mallick put a hand on my arm, and I was suddenly reminded of yesterday, when Hoffman had saved me from falling. Like yesterday, the hand on my arm was warm. "What happened?" he asked. I searched his face for any sign that he was pissed with me, and found none.

Sucking in a deep breath, I began to tell him everything. He was silent during it, for which I was grateful. If he'd been asking questions, he'd have broken me out of my train of thought. It was weird to say, but with Mallick there, the fear and hurt that Seth had invoked in me went away; I felt kind of numb to it all right now. It was a good feeling, one that no amount of drugs could accomplish.

"That's terrible," he said when I was finished, "I get why you would have wanted some alone time yesterday."

Now it was my turn to give him a sidelong look. "You're not pissed at me?"

**MPOV**

Of _course _I wasn't pissed at him. I had absolutely no idea why he would think that, since we had both made an agreement that we would only skip the 'buddy program' if something real shitty came up. And what Adam had been through in the past twenty-four hours definitely qualified as shitty. Beyond shitty, really.

"Of course not," I said sharply. "I've just been worried, that's all."

And I had been. When he didn't show up last night, I had even more trouble than usual trying to get to sleep, stressing about what may or may not have happened to him. When I had managed to get to sleep, I'd had nightmares about Adam being zipped into a body bag.

Of course, I didn't end up sleeping very well at all that night.

I didn't say that to Adam, though. I didn't want him to think I was more of a wuss than I already was.

It was silent for a bit after that. I could tell Adam felt relieved, and actually, I was kind of relieved myself. When I had seen him earlier that morning, he had been staring off into space while Jill chattered on and on about this new gym. Now, if anyone else had seen him, they wouldn't have thought twice about him, but I knew that something had been seriously wrong.

I was glad I knew what was upsetting Adam, and while I couldn't do anything to solve that one, I could distract him with something else. I hunched away from the passing security guard (there were a lot of them floating around, probably to make sure we didn't do anything drastic, like throw handfuls of razor blades or shards of glass around, although I had no clue where we'd even get that stuff), and dug into my pocket. "Since I can't exactly get you a huge birthday cake," I said, pulling out the wrapped doughnut from the depths of my jeans pocket, "I got you something else I know you like."

I offered him the wrapped chocolate glazed doughnut.

**APOV**

The look Mallick gave me just then wasn't cheesy or deceitful, or anything like that. It was just nice. Like he really cared.

Sitting next to him there, I marvelled at the warm and happy emotions springing up inside of me. There was something about being around him that felt good, that moved me in a way that Seth never could have managed. This is what it felt like to have someone like you, I realized. When I'd been around Seth, I'd been constantly trying to prove that I was worthy of his attentions, by doing the stupidest and most reckless things imaginable. Like getting into drugs. It was different with Mallick. He _got _me.

"Thanks," I said, taking the doughnut gratefully. Yeah. Mallick did get me. I ate the doughnut quickly, knowing that food was strictly prohibited in the gym. Luckily, I didn't get caught, and, as I licked the last of the chocolate icing off of my fingers, Mallick stood up. Puzzled, I followed him, only to find myself back at the punching bag. No-one was there, thank God, so we went for another round, pretending that it was people we really hated. Jigsaw. Crazy Drunk Rapist Bitch. Justin Bieber.

There's a reason why people say 'time flies when you're having fun', because, when Mallick and I were taking out our anger on the punching bag, time really did seem to fly by. Before too long, Jill was telling us we had to leave. I sighed and wiped my forehead. I wasn't surprised to see that I was dripping with sweat again. That punching bag really took it out of me.

Mallick and I were jostled as we made our way through the hallways, but for once, neither of us snapped at the offenders like we usually would. We were way too exhausted for that.

I was feeling pretty good about life when we headed for the second meeting room. Mallick had told me that he had a birthday present for me back up in his room, and as soon as we were dismissed, we'd head up to his room and he'd give it to me. I was curious what he'd gotten me; I hadn't received a birthday gift in years.

But, as soon as we reached the second meeting room, I knew something was seriously wrong. I could see police cars parked outside through the windows. Their sirens weren't going off or anything, but their lights were flashing, and, as someone who has had experience with getting arrested, I knew someone here was in serious trouble.

So you can imagine my shock when Eric appeared next to Jill, his face grave. Jill called us all to order and stood aside to let Eric speak. He waited a few moments for complete silence. The next words he spoke astonished me: "Where is Adam Faulkner?"

I felt Mallick stiffen beside me. Everyone in front of me swerved, to leave me in the spotlight. Feeling uncontrolled panic seize hold of me, I stepped forward, shaking slightly. "What did I do?"

Eric glared at me. "We have a few questions for you regarding the violent rape and murder of Angelina Hoffman."

I just sort of stared, too shocked to really do anything else.

Seth, what the hell did you _do? _


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12.**

**Intense Interrogations.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

Once when I was in ninth grade, I had to write an essay on a poem. One of the lines was, 'If your eyes weren't open, you wouldn't know the difference between dreaming or waking.' It hadn't meant much to me at the time. After all, Seth had been bad-mouthing the teacher, so how was I supposed to pay attention to literary analysis? Now, thirteen years later, I understood the poem perfectly.

I had come quietly after Detective Matthews had laid the charges before me, and cuffed my hands behind my back. In fact, I'd sort of become comatose because too much of what he'd said was impossible to process. I couldn't even get to the part about my supposed involvement. I couldn't feel outraged or indignant over the accusation because I was still stuck on the part about Angelina being dead.

Not just dead. _Murdered. _

How had that happened? How had Seth raped and murdered his girlfriend? Even if she had been with someone like Seth, Angelina had always been protected fiercely by her brother, Mark, and if he wasn't able to keep an eye on her, he'd get someone else to; he'd told me so on one of the many car trips to Homeward Bound. Yeah, it was possible that he'd been high at the time, but that still wasn't really an excuse. With the constant threats we drug addicts faced (well, I was no longer technically counted as part of that group- despite what some people thought of me), murder among them was almost unheard of. Sure, it happened. It was inevitable in any society, and some people might think that since they were drug addicts, they were far more likely to kill and whatnot, but that wasn't true. With the way drug addicts were hauled into prison (or, in my case, rehab), we rarely had time to turn on each other. That was part of why Cecil Fletcher had been so condemned. He'd stolen, cheated, and lied his way out of his prison so many times that it was a minor miracle that he'd finally been nabbed by the police. His crimes were about as bad as things got in the drug addict world.

Until now.

Once I got past the impossible idea of Angelina being dead, I was able to ask the real question: Why _me? _Why were they accusing _me? _I was no lawyer, but I was pretty sure calling someone up on the phone for only five or so minutes was _not _hard evidence in a murder investigation.

**MPOV**

I stood in the crowd, fear gnawing at my insides. The police were trying to hold back curious bystanders, and I'd tried to get past them a number of times, and I was about to try again for the umpteenth time. I didn't manage it, though. All I got for my troubles was a shove backwards. "You can't go in there," the policeman grunted, sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Why not?' I demanded. I knew perfectly why everyone else couldn't go in, but I was Adam's friend. I could help him somehow. Because I knew, despite what all the evidence screamed against him, he hadn't done it. Adam wasn't that kind of person. And it would kill me to see him go to jail. I couldn't allow that. I _wouldn't. _

"Because," the policeman said matter-of-factly, "There's a dangerous criminal in there."

I glared at the man. "That's bullshit, and you damn well know it." It didn't occur to me that I had just sworn at an officer of the law until later.

"Mr. Scott, you are out of line," one of the security guards who was assisting the police hold back the curious crowd hissed. I didn't know him, but he was a head taller than me, and I was willing to bet that if I tried to make a run for it, he'd have me pinned down in seconds.

"You have the wrong man," I said through gritted teeth. I was breathing heavily, not because I was out of breath, but because I was full of a dark, slimy rage. They had the wrong man. They _had _to know that!

Neither the security guard nor the police officer replied. I think they were fed up with my constant declarations that they had the wrong man. Defeated for the moment, I stepped back into the crowd, my right hand pulling at my shirt collar- something I hadn't done for quite some time. That should have worried me, but I was worried about only one thing at the moment.

I sincerely hoped that Adam would be okay.

**APOV**

I tried getting more details from Detective Matthews, who was standing just inside the door of the room where I'd spoken to Joyce Dagen, the counsellor, but he remained hard-faced and silent. Apparently, the possibility of me being a possible accomplice to murder had shocked even Eric Matthews out his usual snarky attitude. In any other situation, I would have considered that a personal victory. Not now. His silence was scaring me.

After making my voice hoarse from shouting, I slumped onto the squashy armchair, trying not to show Eric how frightened I really was. I didn't want to go jail. I really didn't. If I had been freaked out when I'd been brought to the police station by Eric, this was ten times worse. When I'd been charged with drug abuse, there had always been a tiny chance that I'd get off lightly. Now, faced with rape and murder, jail was quickly becoming a very real possibility for me.

I strained against the metal cuffs briefly, hoping to catch Eric's attention without actually saying anything. Even though the door was partially closed, I could hear the chatter of the other rehab inmates just out range. They seemed to be trying to get closer, and someone- I hadn't the slightest idea who- was holding them back. The panic began to set in quickly after that. I knew what they wanted. The sooner Eric and the others convicted me, the safer everyone else would feel. They _wanted _me to be guilty. They wanted to bury Angelina Hoffman knowing that her killers were moving towards justice.

Innocent or not, they wanted me to be punished.

That was the most depressing thing about the whole affair, in my opinion. They didn't care if I had been at Homeward Bound at the time of the murder. I was being convicted simply because I had been Seth Baxter's best friend. And for that, I was an immediate accomplice.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Eric, cautious, eased the door open a fraction and slipped out, deliberately not letting me see who the newcomer was. I had a feeling I didn't really want to know who was on the other side of the door. For all I knew, it was more cops coming to lay out yet more charges against me. I doubted I'd even be brought to the police station this time. It would be straight to prison for me, and I _so _did not want that to happen. It was my own future on the line here. Whatever progress I'd made with Mallick would go out the window.

"You shouldn't be here," I heard Eric say loudly, somehow managing to sound both pissed and gentle at the same time. I suddenly felt cold all over. If that was who I thought it was, I was dead already. I hadn't realized it at the time, and I often forget it, but Angelina was a cop's sister. She didn't act like it, so it was perfectly easy to forget, but that truth of that hit me fully now. Her older brother was called Mark Hoffman.

And he just happened to be the cop who had driven me every day to Homeward Bound, and had bought me lunch on several occasions.

I had a feeling that the small friendship between us was pretty much non-existent by now.

"Is he in there?" Hoffman demanded, his voice loud and drunk with grief. He sounded as if he was barely held together- and kind of like he was a little crazy himself. "Is that sick bastard in there?"

"Hoffman," Eric said soothingly, "You shouldn't be here. You should go home. Everything's taken care of here."

"The hell it is!" Hoffman bellowed. It sounded like he was crying. _"I need to see Adam Faulkner!" _

"That's probably not the best-" Was all Eric managed before Hoffman pushed past him and stumbled into the room. I'd said before that he was big. In his grieving fury, he seemed at least ten times bigger. His hair, usually so neat, was unkempt. He was dressed in plain slacks and a white shirt- not work clothes. He'd gotten the call from home, obviously. And he was pissed. _More _than pissed, actually.

I really didn't have a chance. As soon as Hoffman saw me, he lunged for me. As a police officer, I knew he couldn't really try to kill me or anything, but in that moment, he looked like he _could. _He was mad with grief, and he wanted to let out all that anger he felt at Seth, who was not present. Unfortunately, I was, and as a probable accomplice to rape and murder, it was me who he chose to attack.

I'd heard somewhere that Eric Matthews was the violent cop in the bunch, but at that moment, Mark Hoffman put him to shame. He struck out at me almost casually, which was odd under the circumstances, but believe me when I say it _hurt. _He caught me under my left eye. It wasn't strong enough to knock me out, but for a second, I actually saw stars. I yelped and tried to defend myself as best I could without actually using my arms, seeing as they were cuffed behind my back- I really couldn't defend myself at all. Before I could properly recover, Hoffman grabbed the front of my shirt and jerked me forward so that we were practically nose-to-nose.

"Why'd you do it, you bastard?" Hoffman hissed. "Why'd you kill her?"

"I didn't-" I let my denial die. There was no point in arguing with him at the moment. Even if I had stood up and given an amazing testimony that convinced millions, I doubted Hoffman would listen. He had been told that his sister had been murdered, and that I was a probable accomplice. That was all he had needed to know.

Hoffman laughed, although there was no real humour in it. "You're not denying it," he said. "That's good. Now we can get down to business."

Good God. Did that mean he was going to throw me around some more? My eye hurt like hell, and I didn't want the rest of my body to feel like my eye did.

This was seriously one of the most surreal experiences of my life- and not just because I was the one being accused here. It was also partly because the Hoffman I had known was kind and caring, and he had had a complete personality change, and it scared the shit out of me. He did let me go, though, and I wasted no time in getting as far away from him as the seat allowed.

"Mr. Faulkner," Hoffman began, returning to formality. Yeah. Whatever friendship we'd had was now gone. That bothered me. "When did you last use drugs?"

"I- what?" That wasn't exactly the kind of question I'd been expecting.

Hoffman smiled bitterly. "You heard me, Mr. Faulkner. When was the last time you used drugs of any kind?"

I glared at him. I knew what he was trying to do now, and, black eye or not, it pissed me off. That damn receptionist. She'd been supervising my phone call to Seth. I remembered when I'd hung up, how suspiciously she had looked at me. It seemed like she'd gone ahead and told Hoffman I was still a user. I mean, I still had those urges to _get _high, but being in rehab, I hadn't actually done anything about it. I'd been abstinent for a week and a half now, and sometimes, it killed not to get high, but it was better in the long run. I had no clue as to how I'd even get hold of drugs, since Xavier was a pretty well-known dealer in this city, and him appearing here would have resulted in an instant arrest- but that damn receptionist must have thought I'd been on a comedown from using heroin. Hence why Hoffman was being such an asshole now.

"Nearly two weeks ago, just before your friend Detective Matthews out there arrested me." Eric hadn't come into the room, but I knew he was still there. Well, I hoped he was. I sure as hell didn't want to be completely alone with this guy.

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Hoffman asked. "Carla saw you. She said you were on a comedown."

Carla must have been the receptionist. Ugh. "I wasn't on a comedown," I snarled, more angry than upset now. God, _why_ was I baiting him? "I'd just finished talking to Seth Baxter, the one you should be interrogating right now. I was upset when I hung up, not on a comedown."

"Why were you upset?"

That was a loaded question. I had to be careful answering, otherwise I would be in a lot of trouble. "It was my birthday, and Miss Tuck said I could ring home to some family or some friends. I rang Seth, and I thought I could have a mature conversation with him. Apparently not." I had no idea how bitter my words were until I saw Hoffman's expression. He appeared puzzled, though still upset, of course.

"What did you talk about?"

"Well, not much. He wanted to know where I'd been for the past week, and when I told him I was here, he lost it." I didn't go into detail about how he'd slapped Angelina- Hoffman didn't need to know that. I was sure it'd only upset him some more, and I wanted my body intact, thank you very much.

"You didn't use the opportunity to call for anything prohibited on campus?"

"_What? _God, no! I spoke to him, for like, five minutes!"

"That's more than enough time to order drugs, Mr. Faulkner."

I bit back the number of profanities that came to mind. It wouldn't do me any good to start swearing at the guy whose sister had just been raped and killed. "You can just ask _Carla _what our conversation was about. She was supervising me."

Hoffman considered this for a moment. "Alright," he said, "Suppose this story you're feeding me is true. Where were you that night? You didn't return to your apartment like you were supposed to. Did you sneak out to Mr. Baxter's house?"

It was right then that I finally got it. I wasn't a probable accomplice to rape and murder.

Seth had intended for _me _to be the sole perpetrator, the one who had raped and killed Angelina Hoffman, but he'd messed up.

_Shit. _

"No," I said, sounding a hell of a lot braver than I felt, "I stayed here, at Homeward Bound, overnight." I had an alibi. They had no reason to convict me…right? Because Seth had messed up.

Hoffman's lip curled. "You really expect me to believe that?" he asked, leaning in close. I flinched, expecting another blow to the face, but received none. I became aware that if Hoffman decided to manhandle me a bit more, there was nothing I could do about it. My hands were tied. Literally.

I opened my mouth to reply when the door swung open. "Hoffman," Eric exclaimed, springing into action, "What the hell did you _do?" _

The question confused the huge police officer. He stared at Detective Matthews, uncomprehending, and then he seemed to remember the bruise over my left eye. Judging from Eric's expression, it looked almost as bad as it hurt. Which was pretty bad. Well, that was just _great. _I was scared out of my wits, was covered in sweat, had my hands cuffed behind my back, and now I had a black eye. A freaking black eye. "…I was interrogating him," Hoffman explained weakly.

Now, I would have expected Eric Matthews, of all people, to sympathize with Hoffman and not me, but what he did next absolutely floored me.

"You can't do that to him," he exclaimed.

I think Hoffman was just as shocked as me. He just stared at Eric, unsure if the cop who had a reputation for cracking skulls and breaking kneecaps was seriously telling him that giving someone a black eye was prohibited. After several seconds which spoke legions between the two cops, Hoffman sighed, admitting defeat. "I guess not." He _almost _sounded like he regretted hitting me. _Almost. _

"You should go home," Eric said softly. Again, I was shocked at the sudden personality change. In any other situation, I would have put money on him abandoning me for the wolves. But I guessed this wasn't the most normal situation. It wasn't everyday that a colleague of yours had a family member murdered.

Hoffman opened his mouth to say something, but Eric overrode him once more: "There's nothing you can do here, Mark. It's best you go home now and, uh, grieve."

It took more coaxing, but Hoffman eventually left the room, muttering something about how I was the culprit and how I should rot in hell. As soon as the other cop left the room, Eric became hard-faced and stony once more. "You're damn lucky," was all he said, moving back towards the door.

I didn't really get how I was lucky at all, but I decided that I suddenly didn't want to be sitting down anymore. I got up from the armchair, flexing my wrists gingerly. They hurt, but I suspected they weren't bruised. That was a relief. "What's going to happen now?" I asked. "Am I going to jail?"

Eric shook his head. "We're going to visit a person who can testify that you were here, at Homeward Bound, all night. The one person who can prove that you didn't assist Seth Baxter with the rape and murder of Angelina Hoffman."

Wow. Today was filled with surprises. "Who?" I asked, feeling hopeful.

"Jill Tuck," Eric said.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13.**

**Simple Sweet Surprises.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

The events that followed were a blur.

You'd think, seeing as this was my only hope of escaping jail and a more serious criminal record, that I'd remember everything in perfect, crystalline detail. Yet after everything that had happened recently, I was still in shock, still unable to think. I wasn't the only one who was somewhat catatonic, either- Detective Matthews was silent, as he eased open the door from which Hoffman (I felt a pang of regret at his name) had departed from. I guess the possibility that Detective Matthews was wrong about me for a second time was nearly impossible for the guy to grasp. I had to admit, the silence was relaxing.

To both of our surprise, the hallway was empty. Well. It looked like security had managed to herd away that crowd. That was good. I hadn't been particularly thrilled at the idea of walking past a crowd that wanted to see me hang for being an accomplice to murder.

Yeah. I was _so _glad that they were gone now.

Detective Matthews quickly ushered me from the room. He didn't uncuff me, which I thought was pretty mean of him to do, since someone had come forward that I was _not _an accomplice to rape and murder, but had our roles been reversed, I probably wouldn't have been too keen to set me free just yet, either. The cop in question led me down yet another hallway I had not encountered before, and as we walked, he filled me in on some of the details:

Jill Tuck had been closing up Homeward Bound around the same time that Angelina had been murdered. According to Detective Matthews, she's seen me slumped in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room, and she'd decided not to move me. She'd also apparently decided to remain at Homeward Bound overnight just to keep an eye on me. Not that she'd actually sat next to me or anything, but she walked by every fifteen minutes or so.

At least, that's what Detective Matthews told me. The man might be an ass about some things, but I had a feeling he wasn't bullshitting me right now.

"How come she waited so long to clear my name?" I asked him, as we kept walking. Now, that might sound like I was having a major bitching session, but really, I was just curious. Why _had _she waited so long to come out and say that I wasn't a suspect?

Eric looked like he was in pain. Grimacing, he said, "Because she didn't know what time the murder occurred. Had she known that, she would have spoken up a lot sooner." His tone indicated that despite having a witness, he still thought I wasn't in the all-clear just yet. He angrily pushed through a set of double doors that led to a more sophisticated part of the rehab, a part I had never seen before. I guessed that this was where Jill and all the other upper-class people resided. Not surprisingly, several people (people that were _not _patients here, I might add) did double takes. Swallowing, I forced myself not to react. It would be okay. No need to freak out. People got hurt all the time. Admittedly, this was a more noticeable injury than most, but I could live with it until it healed, right? And it wasn't like anyone would know how I received it.

I was quickly herded into an office and was offered to sit down on a chair that looked exactly like the one Joyce Dagen had in _her _office. Since like 90% of my body hurt like hell, I quickly accepted the offer, sinking gratefully into the chair. My squashy armchair sat opposite a more modern chair, and in it sat Jill Tuck herself. Her normally pristine honey-coloured hair was lank and dull, and the kind expression that usually adorned her face was taut with worry. She was wringing her hands, and, when she got full sight of my face, her eyes widened. She then turned to stare at Eric, as if she thought he had been the one who had done this to me.

Totally oblivious to all this, Detective Matthews held a pen and paper in hand. "You ready to give your statement now, Miss Tuck?" he asked dully, not meeting her eyes.

Jill nodded. She clasped her hands together on top of the desk. If Eric noticed her uneasiness, he didn't show it. Whilst Hoffman had always referred to Jill with some degree of respect (and I imagined that that respect was now gone, at least until he came to his senses), Eric had made it quite clear that Jill was not one of his favourite people.

At last Eric met her gaze squarely. "Right. Go ahead," was all he could bring himself to say.

Jill sucked in a deep breath, and then began her testimony:

"At approximately eleven fifty-three p.m., the same time as the murder of Angelina Hoffman, I was closing down the place. I'd just finished some paperwork, you see, and I was eager to go home and rest. When I was making my way to the front door to lock up, I saw a person slumped in one of the chairs in the waiting room." She paused, and I felt hope stir in me. This was what I was waiting for. The proof that I was innocent. "That person was Adam. Now, had it been earlier, I would have moved him. But it was late, far too late to move him or do anything else. So I stayed the night and kept an eye on him. He didn't leave the building prior to commit murder, Detective Matthews. Adam Faulkner is innocent."

Eric looked slightly disgusted. "And you have videoed evidence to back your claims up?" I think he _wanted _me to be guilty. Pretty damn badly, apparently.

Jill didn't back down. She stood up and smiled. "Yes. You are free to investigate them as much as you wish, but I assure you, the man standing before me is _not_ a murderer."

The room was silent. I sat frozen in my chair, hardly daring to believe it. Had I really been let off all those charges, that easily? Was this a dream? If it was, then I sure as hell didn't want to wake up. But then I began noticing things. Like, how Jill looked like a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, and how Eric Matthews looked like he was being stabbed repeatedly. Those little things cheered me up a little, until the truth of Jill's words finally hit me like a ton of bricks:

_I was really free._

**MPOV**

I glared at my bedroom door, knowing that the guard standing on the other side was probably laughing at me. Shortly after my outburst, everyone had been herded into their rooms, and were not permitted to exit, save for a short toilet break. Even then, we were watched carefully. I'd tried to explain that Adam was innocent, that they had the wrong man, but the guard had just laughed. "Friends," he'd sneered, "will do anything to protect each other. How do I know you're not lying through your teeth, mister?"

This was one of those times when I _really _hated authority.

I sighed, and lay back on my bed. There wasn't anything I could do- and that pissed me off. I wanted to do something, _anything, _to help clear Adam's name, but right now, I was coming up empty. There wasn't a whole lot you could do when you were confined to your room.

I focused my glare on the ceiling, and that coil of dark, slimy anger returned. I hated being powerless. And I hated going down without a fight. What had happened- the argument just outside the room where Adam was being held captive- hadn't even been a fight. The argument had been just that- an argument.

I sighed again. I just hoped these assholes would come to their senses before it was too late.

**APOV**

I was no longer a suspect.

A huge smile spread over my face, one that only widened when Eric removed the metal cuffs from me. I ran a hand through my lengthening hair, my mood shooting straight up from 'hopeful' to 'ecstatic.' I wanted to rush straight back to Mallick and tell him the good news, but Jill called me back, once Eric had left, slamming the door behind him as he did so.

"I swear, Adam, you should have a 'get out of jail free' card," she said. There was a small smile on her face. "Short of those like Cecil Fletcher and Amanda Young, I don't think I've seen one single patient get in so much trouble in such a short space of time."

"Thanks," I said, not really sure I wanted the honour. "So, I'm good to go?"

She nodded. I was about to leave for the second time, when she called out my name yet _again. _I turned back, and raised an eyebrow. The next thing I knew, a bolt of pain hit me, directly over my eye. I grimaced and clapped a hand over the tender flesh. "You're going to have some pain for a while," Jill said. She was standing next to me, looking me over with concern. "I'll give you something for that before you go."

"Thanks," I said again. The pain was not quite enough to dampen my good mood. "Can I take a look at it?"

Jill's smile faded, and she suddenly looked nervous. "I'm not so sure that that's a good idea, Adam."

"I have to at least _see_ what everyone's been staring at me for," I argued. I wasn't angry, not exactly. But I _did _want to know the extent of Hoffman's fury, since it was apparently bad enough to draw attention from passersby.

Sighing lightly, Jill pointed to the adjoining room, which turned out to be a bathroom. Sitting above the sink was a mirror. I ran over to it and looked at my reflection.

"Son of a bitch!"

Purplish red splotches covered the upper portion of the left side of my face, particularly near the eye. I looked like I'd been hit by a truck. No wonder I'd drawn so many startled gazes. Desperately, I wheeled around to face Jill.

"This is going to go away, right? If I keep ice on it?"

Jill shook her head. "Ice can help…but I'm afraid you're going to have a wicked black eye. It'll probably be at its' worst tomorrow, but it should clear up in a week or so."

I left the office in a daze, once Jill had given me some aspirin. I had so many conflicting feelings that I thought I would explode. Oh, I was definitely happy about not being a suspect for rape and murder, believe me, but seeing the extent of Hoffman's rage and grief-induced brutality had kind of floored me. I made my way back to a set of hallways that were familiar to me, and as I walked, the aspirin did its job. The pain wasn't as bad as it had been- it had reduced to a constant, dull throb that made any sort of logical thinking a real bitch.

However, I didn't need to think logically to know what I was going to do next. I walked for maybe ten minutes at most, when I came across a door that was very familiar to me, and, when I saw it, a smile crept across my face.

**MPOV**

I had sunk into a deep stupor, gazing blankly at the ceiling, the ache in my chest throbbing dully. I wanted so desperately to help prove Adam's innocence, but right now, I wasn't doing a very good job at it.

I frowned, and decided that lying here doing nothing probably wouldn't ease my anger any, so I managed to heave myself off the bed and pick up one of the few books I'd packed. It was dog-eared and limp, but I sat back down on my bed and began to read it anyway.

Time passed, and, instead of easing my agitation, reading the book seemed to make it worse. I eventually ended up heaving the book at the wall, disgusted. It made a soft thump and fell to the ground, looking more tattered than ever.

I breathed heavily through my nose, trying to calm myself down. When I at last managed that minor act, I heard something that pretty much killed all of my anger instantly.

Adam.

I could hear Adam's voice.

I sat bolt upright on my bed, listening intently. Adam was speaking softly to the guard that stood in front of my door, and although I couldn't hear everything he said, just the fact that I _could _hear his voice made me feel lighter, happier, as though a huge weight had just been taken off from my shoulders. Because, if they still thought Adam was a murderer, they wouldn't have even let him get this far- the fact that he was _here, _and only a few metres away, well, it felt great.

The murmuring continued, until eventually, I heard the guard sigh. "All right," he said, "I suppose you can go in." With those lovely words, he opened my door, and Adam walked in.

**APOV**

The door opened, and it was like an apparition materializing before me, some sort of heavenly messenger descended from above. True, we'd only been apart for a day or so, but when you've shared your deepest, darkest secrets with someone, that day can seem like weeks. Or years. Part of me wondered if I was imagining this.

Mallick's hand went to his mouth, and he stared at me wide-eyed. Behind me, I heard the door snap shut, but that was unimportant right now. No doubt I seemed like a phantom to Mallick, too.

And with that reunion…it was like I was emerging from a cave- one I'd hidden in to protect myself from the rage of Hoffman, from Detective Matthews' hate, and from the constant startled looks from passersby- into the bright light of day. When Lawrence had cut all contact with me after we'd both escaped from the Jigsaw trap, I felt like I'd lost part of my soul. Now, seeing Mallick, I began to think that maybe my soul might be able to recover.

A world of questions and confusion hung in the silence between us. In spite of everything we'd been through, there was still the unresolved business of assuring Mallick that I was _not _an accomplice to rape and murder. For the first time I'd set foot in this room, I felt afraid. Afraid that Mallick would reject me or scream at me for what I'd done- for what most people thought I had done.

Instead, he drew me into a hug. "I knew it," he said. "I knew you didn't do it."

I hugged him back, feeling those warm feelings springing up inside of me again. "You never thought I was a murderer?"

Mallick snorted. "Of course not. You're just not that sort of person."

My best friend. I had my best friend back. I could go on with my life.

Mallick stepped out of the hug, and for the first time, he seemed to notice my injuries. "Holy _shit_. What happened?"

"Let's sit." I gestured towards his bed, which seemed suddenly very appealing to me all of a sudden. The two of us sat down comfortably.

And I launched into the story, telling him everything that had happened to me: being handcuffed, Hoffman assaulting me, Eric informing me that someone could testify for me, and of course, Jill Tuck actually testifying for me. Mallick listened the whole time, his face compassionate. Those warm feelings grew stronger. I kept them to myself, though, and when I was finished speaking, Mallick smiled at me.

"It won't last forever," he said, nodding at my black eye.

I groaned. "I know that, but for a week, I get to look like I've been hit by a truck!"

"You more or less _have," _Mallick countered.

I scowled at him for a moment, and then smiled. Today was a day of celebration. It wasn't every day that you get saved from your carer from going to prison. "Yeah. Guess I should be grateful I escaped with this much damage."

Mallick returned my smile. "You really don't look that bad," he said.

I stared at him, incredulous. "Really?"

He nodded, his expression serious. "Really."

I'm not sure what made me do it. Even now, I _still_ don't know. But I did it. I leaned forward and grazed my lips against his. Maybe it was because I was so grateful that he was one in only a handful of people that didn't think I was a murderer, but in all honesty, I hadn't the faintest idea.

Mallick was completely frozen. In those few seconds that had passed, he'd turned into a statue. I had no idea whether he was frightened or repulsed.

I sighed, and kissed him again. This time he responded, and I knew my hunch had been right. We kissed, pressing ourselves closer to each other. I gripped Mallick's hair tightly, pressing his face to mine. It was as if we were both drowning- and only the other person could save us. It didn't occur to me that I was kissing another man. All I could think of was how _right _this felt. I was no newbie when it came to kissing, but being with Mallick, here and now, it felt like my first kiss all over again.

There was no space between us now, and as we continued kissing, I felt Mallick's fingers toy with my shirt collar, almost as if he was trying to… _undo_ it. Pleasantly bewildered, I moved back slightly to give him some room, and kept sucking his top lip in mine, while he tried to undo my shirt _and _kiss me at the same time. He was nothing if but a multitasker.

I was kind of surprised at how quickly things had escalated, but honestly…I didn't mind. Unlike all those other times where I had made out with other girls whose names escaped me, this felt _right. _

Mallick had almost gotten my shirt half-undone when there was a knock at the door. Annoyed and disappointed, the two of us sprang apart, feeling mildly embarrassed. Had the person on the other side heard anything? God, I hoped they hadn't.

"Who is it?" Mallick asked, sounding a lot calmer than he looked. He looked as if his whole world had been rocked. I grinned, hastily re-buttoning my top. Even if the person on the other side hadn't heard anything, the fact that I was half-dressed would be a dead giveaway. My shirt buttoned, I ran a hand through my hair and gave Mallick a brief look-over. Aside from the fact that his hair was sticking up in places where I'd grabbed it, he looked fine.

"It's Carla." Upon hearing that repulsive nasal voice of the receptionist, Mallick and I both grimaced. It was _so_ typical of her to ruin what had been a perfectly good time. She'd caused enough trouble already by telling Hoffman that I'd been ordering drugs from Seth. I scowled.

"What is it?" Mallick asked, his voice still controlled. The only sign that he was pissed with Carla was that his hands were curled into fists.

"Phone for you, Mr. Scott."

Mallick raised an eyebrow. "Who is it?"

There was a brief pause. "It's Zachary Scott. Your father."

If Mallick and I had been puzzled before, we were absolutely _floored _now. Mallick had told me about his father, and how the relationship between them was 'pretty much non-existent'. Mallick had told me of the fights they'd gotten into since his mother's death, and how his father had threatened to send Mallick to prison if he would not to rehab, all for Zachary Scott's precious reputation.

So it made absolutely no sense that he was calling now. Unless something had happened…

Mallick sighed. "I'd better take it." He got off the bed and moved to the door, looking regretfully back at me. I shrugged and gave him a smile that told him I would be OK.

Mallick eased open the door just enough so that he could see Carla, and she him. "Thanks," he said politely, easing out of the tiny opening. Turning back to me, he mouthed _Stay here_. Then the door closed, and I was alone in his room.

**MPOV**

I sighed. I didn't like leaving Adam alone, and I really didn't want to do it now. If it wasn't for the fact that it was my _father _calling, I would have almost certainly told Carla where exactly she could stick that damn phone call.

Carla led me along a set of halls that were almost second-nature to me, and we came out at the first reception area- where she worked, and where I had researched Adam's brush with the Jigsaw Killer. At the sight of the dainty phone resting, I felt a sense of dread curl up in me. Why I always felt that around anything associated with my father, I hadn't the slightest idea, but I didn't like it. "Why don't I call him back later?" I offered. "I'm sure he's tied u[p with work and all, so…"

Carla gave me a dirty look. "He says it's important," she said stiffly. She lifted the phone from her desk and thrust it at me, glaring.

I sighed, and took it from her. "Fine." I turned away from her. I didn't want her staring at me with those piggy eyes of hers.

Resignedly, I held the phone up to my ear. "Hello?" I asked. "This is Mallick speaking."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14.**

**The Ominous, Eerie Envelope.**

**XxX**

**MPOV**

Well, _this_ was certainly interesting.

Zachary Scott, lawyer extraordinaire, was actually pulling himself away from work just to call his son, whom he'd called a 'junkie' not two weeks before?

Yeah. Something was definitely up.

"Hello?" I asked, resigned to the fact that my father was probably just going to lecture me, as he almost always did when he actually managed to pull himself away from work to talk to me, "This is Mallick speaking." As I said those words, I noticed Carla watching me like a hawk. I was also very aware of the fact that Adam was probably listening in, too. I really didn't mind about the latter, but Carla_ had_ to go. I gave her my fiercest glare.

It worked. She cowered beneath my eyes, and skulked away. That being done, I turned my attention back to my father.

"_Mallick!_ Are you okay?" My father demanded, sounding almost angry.

Whoa. Did he seriously just say what I thought he just said? For what must have been the fifth time today, I was completely blown away. I mean, the number of times I've heard those words in my life…I could count them on my fingers. Once, when I was ten, and somehow managed to fall down the stairs…

As I went through the list of the times I had heard my father actually express any emotion RELATING to concern (I counted five), I simply held the phone to my ear, standing there in a state of shock, going through my list again, just to make sure I hadn't miscounted or anything.

"Mallick?" he demanded again, making me jump. He sounded slightly hysterical now. _"Mallick, are you there?" _

"Right here, Dad." I kept my voice even, despite how shocked I was. 'Dad' was not a word I used lightly, but right now, he actually sounded like he needed some reassurance.

"Good." Even over the phone, I could hear relief make its' way through his voice. I suddenly envisioned him slumping back into his desk chair, relief flooding his features. I was kind of surprised at that. Relief was only an emotion my father had used when he managed to pull off a particularly hard court case- until now. "How are you, son?"

"Fine," I said cautiously.

"Good, good." He seemed to be thinking. At last he said, "I heard all about that poor Hoffman girl. Are you okay, Mallick?"

My initial thought to that was _'Are you kidding me? I didn't do it, and neither did Adam, so of __**course**__ I'm okay, old man.' _I could hardly say that, though, so I settled for a response the old man would probably expect from a 'junkie' like me: "Well, as okay as someone in rehab can be."

I'd thought it extremely witty at the time, but when my father didn't say anything, I began to wonder if I'd hurt his feelings. Sure, I'd done it lots of times, but…it somehow seemed worse in rehab. Maybe it was because I was finally seeing the light and NOT using drugs and all that, but I actually felt bad about it.

There was an extremely uncomfortable silence.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but, my father beat me to it. "Look, Mallick…" he said, sounding as uncomfortable as I felt, "I…I'm sorry."

You know, I seriously thought I couldn't _be _any more stunned than I already was, what with everything that had happened lately, but…once again, I was completely and utterly floored.

Was there _nothing_ that wouldn't shock me anymore?

"I…" I honestly didn't know what to say. My mind had gone numb, and whatever stupid apology I'd had prepared instantly dissolved. I was at a complete loss as to what to say.

Once again, my father beat me to it. That was just him, I suppose. He had always had a competitive nature, and now it seemed he was competing to get all he had to say out before I could even start. Normally, I found this habit irritated me to all hell, but now, it didn't seem as annoying. "Let me finish, please," he said- was he _begging? _"I know you must hate me, Mallick, but when I heard that there was a killer in the same rehabilitation centre you were in, I _had _to make sure you were all right. I-" he stopped, and almost seemed to be choking up here, "- I was _worried _about you."

So. The great, illustrious Zachary Scott _did_ in fact have a heart, after all.

When he didn't say anything else, I realized that he wanted me to say something. I cursed inwardly. Though I was undoubtedly grateful for this, I hadn't the slightest idea of what to say without sounding like a total brat. I racked my mind, trying to think of something somewhat intelligent to say that could adequately sum up what exactly I was feeling right now.

"I…thanks, Dad." As I said those words, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Carla eyed me sulkily from her desk.

"Not at all, dear boy, not at all." He sounded considerably happier now. Once again, I imagined him sitting in his chair, leaning forward, the phone crammed to his ear, the polar opposite to what I was doing. I was leaning casually against the wall (well, I made it _look _casual- I actually needed the wall so I wouldn't fall over, I was that blown away), with the phone put up just as casually against _my _ear. Undoubtedly that was why Carla was glaring at me. She didn't want me to get her precious cream walls dirty. Well, tough. I wasn't _that _dirty. That stupid, lying receptionist would have to get over it. "So," he said, and I fixed my attention back on my father and not that bitch of a receptionist, "I hear they had one of them in custody. One of the killers, I mean."

I froze. He was talking about Adam. I swallowed tightly before answering, "Uh…that's not true, Dad."

"Are you sure?" he asked, and there was that snarky tone in his voice again- the one that had irritated me to all hell when I'd been at home, "Because my sources informed me that there were _two _suspects-"

"No, Dad. There was only one suspect." I wasn't sure if my father's 'sources' were legal, and I was entirely sure I wanted to find out, either. But I _had _to get my point across. I mean, Adam had been _framed! _He hadn't killed and raped Angelina Hoffman. "His name is Seth Baxter. He tried to frame my-" Uh-oh. I'd let something slip, and my father, lawyer extraordinaire that he was, jumped right onto it.

"Your…?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"My _friend," _I said through gritted teeth, so that Adam wouldn't hear. Of course, we were probably _more _than friends, but my father wasn't to know that. "Seth Baxter tried to frame my friend. And he nearly succeeded."

"Ah, you're making friends, are you?" He ignored the part about Seth Baxter, but seemed to take the word 'friend' to heart.

"Yeah." I deliberately kept my voice low. This was _not _a conversation I wanted to get into with my father- especially when I knew so little myself.

"Good, good. That's good." He seemed pleased. "I have some good news, Mallick. I've been wanting to tell you."

"Good news?" As mean as it was, the words 'good news' hardly EVER came out of my father's mouth. And when they did, it was connected ONLY to work. Wow. Life sure was changing.

"Yes. You have a further two and a half weeks left at Homeward Bound Rehabilitation Centre, and then you may return home, to continue your studies. I remember you wanted a diploma, isn't that right? Once you're home, I can make that happen." He sounded as though he were grinning from ear to ear, and I supposed in a way that _was _good news- it meant that I was nearly finished my rehabilitation process.

On the downside, though, if I was studying for God knew what diploma, then that meant that I would have little to no time to talk to Adam. My heart sank at the thought. We had been through so much, the two of us, and the thought of parting ways so early in our relationship (there was no way I could technically call what we had a _friendship- _friends don't make out with each other), made me more than a little depressed.

Our conversation after that was brief. I kept my replies short, thinking of Adam, and eventually my father realized that I wasn't as cooperative as before. Sounding a little disheartened, yet hopeful, he hung up, leaving a farewell in my ear: "Hang in there, son. It'll be all right. I'm looking forward to having you back."

XxX

Once I'd handed the phone back to Carla, I was back in my room in an instant. Adam was still on my bed, reading the dog-eared book I'd thrown at the wall earlier. His hair was still tousled slightly from where I'd grabbed it, and I smiled. As I shut the door with a soft snap, Adam looked up from the book, a look of curiosity on his face. "What did the big man want?" he asked- during our time together, I'd filled him in on the intricacies of my relationship with my father. Adam called him 'the big man' or 'Boss' when referring to him.

I sat down beside him, running my hands through my hair and letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "I think he was trying to apologize," I said thoughtfully, "You know, for everything."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Well, of course he was sceptical. Zachary Scott was known for paying people to be quiet. He was one of the best, albeit one of the most corrupt, lawyers out there.

Frowning slightly, I nodded. Adam immediately lightened up. "Hey, that's great," he told me, his face alight with joy- for me.

I smiled, and he smiled back.

**APOV**

I seriously don't know what the hell time was up to, but it sucked- majorly. Pretty much as soon as Mallick had told me what his father had wanted, the bell rang. Cursing inwardly (I was slowly getting better at controlling my swearing- _slowly), _I stood up. Mallick accompanied me to the door, looking almost as annoyed as I felt. Very aware that Carla was regarding the two of us with a very stormy look, I said a quick goodbye and rushed off, to make sure I was in time for Eric to come and pick me up.

Those plastic chairs were a bitch to sleep in.

**XxX**

I couldn't breathe.

There was a hand covering my mouth and another shaking my shoulder, startling me out of a heavy sleep. A thousand frantic thoughts rushed through my mind in the space of a single second. It was happening. Seth was coming back for me.

_He's here! He's come for me! _

My eyes blinked, staring around wildly in- was it a car?- until Eric's face came into focus. I stopped thrashing, momentarily dazed. He let go and stepped back- the door was open, I saw. I sat up in the car seat, my heart still pounding.

"Eric?" I grumbled. He scowled at me in return.

"Faulkner. You wouldn't wake up."

Naturally, that was his only apology for scaring me half to death.

I cast my eyes around the interior of the car, so very much like the one Hoffman drove. He hadn't driven me since his sister had died. I felt a little saddened at that. He knew I didn't kill her, so why was he avoiding me?

Anyhow, I brought my attention back to the problem at hand: I'd fallen asleep in Eric's car.

Again.

_How _I managed to do such a thing, I really hadn't the slightest idea. Well, actually, I guess I did. Ever since that day when Mallick and I shared our first kiss, only to be interrupted by his _father, _sleep had been avoiding me for days. Even though I was now clear of the charges of killing and rape a young woman (Hoffman's sister, in fact), I still didn't sleep easy. My dreams were now haunted by three madmen, all of whom stalked me endlessly- and Seth was one of these people. No wonder I'd fallen asleep inside the car.

I yawned widely, ignoring Eric's obvious eye roll, and got out of the car, ready for my next day at rehab.

**MPOV**

Joyce Dagen the counsellor really did not have much of a life, because as soon as I finished breakfast, I was instructed to visit her. I wasn't thrilled about it, seeing as there wasn't much she and I seemed to talk about apart from my father- and that was a topic I wasn't so certain about anymore. However, orders were orders, so I grudgingly showed up.

"You're wrong, you know," I informed her, as soon as I was inside the room.

"What about, Mr. Scott?" Joyce asked, shuffling her papers noisily. She was wearing a blouse that seemed way too cold for the current temperatures, and it looked eerily like the pictures she had hung up around the wall. Ew. I tried not to look at the flowers. They were creepy.

"My father and I don't have a hateful relationship, we have a _weird _relationship." As soon as I said those words, I swore inwardly. I wasn't supposed to say that. I was supposed to still e uncooperative- so I could stay in rehab longer. I didn't want to get a diploma. I wanted to spend time with Adam.

And eat chocolate glazed doughnuts, of course.

"Can you elaborate on 'weird'?" Joyce asked me, and I sighed. Well. I'd fuelled the fire, so I may as well fan the flames, too. So I leant back in my squashy armchair and began to tell Joyce everything.

**APOV**

After being dismissed by Bobby (who was as cheerful as ever- there was no way he thought I'd been the one to kill Angelina, he told me happily), I made my way towards the cafeteria, intending to get myself a chocolate glazed. I hadn't had one in a while, and, well, I was hungry.

As I made a beeline for the short line where my chocolate glazed were at, someone called me back. Slightly annoyed, I turned, to see Carla regarding me angrily. My annoyance gave way to a very stormy look, one I made sure to share with Carla immediately. She stood defiant, one hand on her hips, a smirk playing at the edge of her too-red mouth. "Well?" I growled, once she made it clear she wasn't going to make an effort to speak first, "What do you want?"

Her stern expression gave way to a simpering smile. "A letter for you, Mr. Faulkner," she said pompously, holding out a rather battered-looking envelope. I stared at it blankly for a few seconds. Had I seen this thing before?

"Here," Carla said, thrusting it into my hands, as though she couldn't wait to get it away from her. I investigated the envelope carefully. My name was written on it in an untidy scrawl. Again I got that feeling, that feeling that I had seen this small scrap of paper before.

But…where?

"Where did you get this?" I asked Carla suspiciously, still regarding her with a very dark look.

She smiled that oh-so-false smile of hers. "Actually, I found it the day you stayed the night," she told me, sounding like she had actually accomplished something important, instead of finding a piece of paper on the floor, "You must have dropped it."

Ah, _now _I remembered. The envelope had originally been a 'gift' from Ivan, my landlord. So. I'd dropped it one the same day I'd rung Seth…my birthday.

Carla's annoying nasal voice jerked me out of my reverie. "Personally, I don't know _why _you would carry around a piece of paper…but it's yours, and, as a member of staff here at Homeward Bound, it was my duty to return it to you." With those final words, she turned around and marched away.

I sighed. I _really _hated her. Almost as much as I hated Amanda Young and Justin Bieber.

And I _loathed _them. Not just hated, but _loathed. _Someone- Mallick, I think- had told me that _loathing _someone was somehow worse than just hating them. I didn't really get it, but who was I to question him?

Oh well. I shrugged, and stuffed the envelope in my pocket.

I'd read it later.

**XxX**

Mallick and I were in his room, as we always did when 'buddy time' came along. We were both supposed to be filling out our reports on our 'buddies', but we had found something better to do.

Eat.

Since Carla had inadvertently (or maybe that had been her purpose, after all) made me miss getting lunch, Mallick had somehow managed to smuggle some more chocolate glazed doughnuts, all of which we were currently feasting upon now. Of course, if we ate too many, we might gain weight- but Homeward Bound forbade _that. _We were required to go to the gym every day now. Apparently it was a part of our rehabilitation.

Whatever. I wasn't going to argue, so long as I continued to get my daily dose of chocolate glazed.

And Mallick too, of course.

"So," Mallick said in between mouthfuls of doughnut, "I hear you have something special in your pocket."

I choked on a mouthful of doughnut. "How do you know about that?"

"Carla's been boasting about it all day," he replied, rolling his eyes, "She said something about how you couldn't even keep an eye on a piece of paper."

I'm not sure why, but my temper suddenly flared. I leapt up from the bed. "That bitch!"

Mallick had a temper like me, but he was unusually calm this afternoon. "Hey, calm down," he said, tugging at my shirt gently, "We all know Carla's a bitch. I wasn't trying to make you angry. I was just curious about this envelope of yours."

I gave in to his tugs and sat back down. I was still seething, however. "Yeah, well, it's probably nothing important. It came from Ivan, so it more or less must be garbage." That, or it must be a bill for unpaid rent. I hoped it was the former.

"You never know until you open it," Mallick pointed out.

"True," I admitted. Maybe it was just me, but being around Mallick, I couldn't seem to be angry for very long. I dug my hand into my pocket and brought out the dog-eared thing. I eyed it suspiciously, before ripping the top of it open.

Two things fell out.

One, a piece of paper that looked very much like a bill.

Two, a piece of folded notepaper that seemed newer than the actual bill.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I went for the second one first. The paper was crisp, neat- _new. _The kind of paper you saw in offices.

With Mallick watching me curiously, I unfolded the paper and read it.

My blood went cold.

I read it through twice, to make sure I hadn't made a mistake:

_Adam,_

_I am not surprised to learn that you are in rehab. You certainly seem to have a talent for attracting trouble, do you not? Nonetheless, what you do with your life now matters very little to me; just know that whatever connection we had in 'that place' no longer exists. I was your doctor; nothing more. Nevertheless, I look forward to see how you have moved forward since our encounter, especially since you cannot stand to keep yourself out of trouble- it seems inevitable that you and I will meet again._

_L.G._

"Adam?" Mallick asked. "Who's the note from?"

"No-one," I said hastily, folding it back up.

No-one indeed.

L.G.

Lawrence Gordon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15.**

**Sudden Second Thoughts.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

There's a big difference between threats and love letters- even if the person writing the threats had once claimed to actually love you. Of course, considering _I _had once threatened someone I loved, maybe I had no right to judge.

The letter had been perfectly timed, not that I should have expected any less from Lawrence Gordon. Straight after the whole ordeal with the police and Seth Baxter (who STILL haunted my dreams, even nearly a week after Jill had smoothed everything over), Lawrence- or Dr. Gordon, as he liked me to refer to him as- had sent me an envelope, which, oddly enough, had been sent with Ivan's 'birthday wishes.'

I'd read the letter about fifty times since I'd received it, and, even though I was now running seriously late for Eric to come pick me up, I couldn't help but read it again:

_Adam,_

_I am not surprised to learn that you are in rehab. You certainly seem to have a talent for attracting trouble, do you not? Nonetheless, what you do with your life now matters very little to me; just know that whatever connection we had in 'that place' no longer exists. I was your doctor; nothing more. Nevertheless, I look forward to see how you have moved forward since our encounter, especially since you cannot stand to keep yourself out of trouble- it seems inevitable that you and I will meet again._

_L.G._

Despite Ivan's 'warm wishes' when he had given me the envelope (and there was no way that he could _not _have known that Lawrence's note was in here- Lawrence had apparently gone out of his way to deliver it to Ivan himself), I didn't really find the letter inspiring as I tossed it onto my bed and blearily left the room.

I tried not to let his words get to me, though it was kind of impossible to not be creeped out by something like that. _It seems inevitable that you and I will meet again. _

I didn't doubt it. Sooner or later, something would happen that would result in me ending up in the hospital- Lawrence hadn't been lying when he said that I had a knack for attracting trouble. I'd always been in and out of the hospital before all this had happened- and Lawrence knew it.

But it wasn't the thought of actually meeting Lawrence again that made my steps falter as I walked the hallways of my shitty apartment that literally seemed to falling apart around me. No, despite how much I dreaded seeing Lawrence again, that wasn't what stopped me in my tracks. It was what I'd tell Mallick. Because there was no way I couldn't _not _tell him; our friendship had gotten too strong for that, and he could read me like a book. In fact, he probably already knew something was up, because it was all I had been able to think about for the past five days.

However, I sensed I wasn't the only one with news: Mallick clearly had something on his mind, and I was determined to find out what it was. We hadn't been talking as much as we should have been the past few days, each of us preoccupied with our own thoughts.

I didn't like that. If we were going to make this work, we had to be open with each other.

Which meant that I was going to have to tell him about Lawrence Gordon one day- and _soon._

"It's about time, Faulkner!"

I shifted out of my dark thoughts. I'd been so fixated on Lawrence and Mallick that, while I'd been walking through the dark, twisting, rapidly-decomposing hallways of my apartment building, (pointedly ignoring Ivan as I passed the front desk), that I hadn't noticed that I'd nearly walked headlong into Eric Matthews, the police officer who was to drive me to Homeward Bound that day. Ordinarily, Mark Hoffman would have done it, but, since the brutal rape and murder of his sister, I hadn't seen him since.

Eric catching me by surprise was pretty rare, seeing as I was usually aware of his presence and actions. I didn't like the guy- and ditto for him, so we were always tense around each other, breathing down each other's necks. I had to be pretty distracted to not notice him- and he was pretty hard to miss.

I gave Eric what I hoped was a cocky grin. "Yeah, well, I had to finish filling out that form for Jill." That was a complete lie, of course, since I'd filled it out about two days ago, during one of those painfully awkward silences between Mallick and I now had to endure, but Eric wasn't to know that. He was just the officer driving me to and from rehab. It wasn't like he had any idea of what I was actually _doing _at rehab, for which I was grateful.

Eric looked at me sourly. "You should have finished that a long time ago," he grumbled, but nevertheless let me in the sleek boat that was his car. I did my best to appear nonchalant about everything, but, as we glided silently to Homeward Bound, I began to worry. What would I tell Mallick? Would he accept it? Would he hate me?

I sighed. I _really _hated having things to worry about. Why couldn't life be simple, for once?

**MPOV**

As I dressed quickly for yet another day at rehab, I found my thoughts turning to Adam. He had said that the letter was nothing, that it was just a joke, but…I knew better. Whoever the letter was from, they had had been with Adam before. I had no idea if that meant that Adam had been in a relationship with them or what, but I DID know that they were messing with my friend's mind.

Ex-lover or not, I couldn't have that.

Adam was my friend. Well…he was probably _more _than that, but still, if something was bothering him that he felt he couldn't tell even _me, _well, I had to find out what it was. The past five days had been pure torture. He'd been quiet, and although the silence still wasn't entirely uncomfortable, there was something dark there, and I didn't like that. Whatever troubles I had with my father could wait. Adam's problems were obviously a little more troublesome than mine.

So, it was with determination that I finished dressing, breakfasted, and got ready for Adam's arrival. Today would be the day that I found out what exactly was bothering him.

He deserved some peace of mind at last, given what had happened to him during his stay here.

My determination to make our relationship work must have shown on my face, because, when I passed Jill Tuck on the way to the cafeteria, she stopped me and smiled. "You look like you're ready to face an army," she said.

I looked up; I hadn't even noticed who'd stopped me until I got a good look at her. I'd never really talked to Jill before, so it was kind of strange that she'd stopped me of all people in the hallway. From what Adam had said, she was nice, really nice, and talked to just about anyone. "I more or less _am _facing an army," I said, thinking of that envelope Adam had opened not even a week ago.

Jill smiled. "That's one way to look at it," she said, and I realised that she thought I was talking about rehab. It never occurred to me that she might not have been following my train of thought, and, immediately after realising that, I felt my face grow warm with embarrassment.

"I guess," I mumbled, starting on my way again.

"Good luck," Jill called after me.

I raised a hand, to show that I'd heard. Then I stopped. Good luck? What the hell did that mean?

My face must have shown my bewilderment, because Jill laughed gently. "You're going to go through a couple of gentle exercises with Bobby, aren't you?" she asked.

It took me a few moments for her words to sink in. I'd been so fixated on figuring out what I was going to say to Adam to coerce him into telling me what was the matter, that I'd completely forgotten that I had an appointment with Joyce's husband, Bobby Dagen. From what Adam had said, Bobby knew when you were bullshitting, and it was best to just go along with what he told you to do- and not mess around. I wasn't exactly sure if I was excited to go or not- if Bobby was anything like his wife, then I might just go mad.

"Oh. Right. Yeah." I smiled, hoping that I didn't look too foolish. Jill smiled back at me.

"Well, good luck!"

"Thanks," I mumbled, heading towards Bobby's room.

Luck. Screw this meeting with Bobby, I'd need it for this afternoon.

**XxX**

The day passed incredibly slowly. I guess the saying about 'time flies when you're having fun' must be true, because I was _not _enjoying myself in the slightest today, and the minutes seemed to _crawl _by. I swear the clock was being slow on purpose. Surely the day couldn't be going that _slowly? _

An hour with Bobby seemed to last at least five. Two hours in the gym felt like two years.

Time only really started to get off its butt and into gear around 1o'clock, when it was time for lunch. I scooted into line with the others, and saw that Adam was standing in front of me. He looked tired, although he looked a great deal better than he did when we first met. The shadows under his eyes were fading- slowly, sure, but surely. "Hey," I greeted him, pulling the corners of my mouth into what I hoped was a warm smile. He grinned back at me.

"Hey yourself," he countered. Our line moved up, and I could see Adam quickly check the counter, to see if there were any chocolate glazed doughnuts left. I grinned. We still hadn't gotten over our chocolate doughnut fetish yet. I wondered if we ever would.

Awkwardness hung in the air briefly, before we both grinned at each other again. "There's still some left," Adam told me. Seriously, it was as if he'd read my mind. He knew me that well.

The line moved up again, and we both reached for some plates. Amid the piles of croissants and pastries, there they were- our pile of beloved chocolate glazed doughnuts. We took two each, ignoring the stunned looks of the other people in our line, and found a table to sit at. The first few minutes of lunch were filled with silence, as we dug into our doughnuts. "So," I said nervously, once I'd demolished my first doughnut, "Um…what's up, Adam?"

He looked up from his chocolate-smeared plate. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of- was it _fear? – _in his eyes.

**APOV**

Damn. He knew something was up.

To give myself a bit of time to think, I swallowed my last mouthful of doughnut carefully, and licked the frosting off of my fingers. What would I tell him? That someone I had once loved now hated me? Was quite possibly _stalking _me? And that someone I met while I was being a captive of Jigsaw's?

No. I was pretty sure Mallick wouldn't accept that.

Then again…the look in his eyes unnerved me. He was genuinely concerned, and even looked a little hurt. Guilt flared. I hadn't meant to make Mallick feel bad. I'd seriously thought that by avoiding the issue and not telling him what the note had said, he wouldn't be hurt at all. The past was in the past, right?

Yeah. Whatever. If that was true, then why was it coming back to haunt me?

I sighed. Mallick deserved to know. He was my best friend- hell, he was the _only _friend I had had for a long time. Seth and Xavier certainly didn't count as friends. And, well, aside from being my best friend, he could be something else as well.

And I sure as hell didn't want to lose that.

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," I said, making sure to keep my voice low so that Laura and Addison, who were nearby, wouldn't hear. "I'm…I'm sorry, Mallick."

"What are you sorry about?" he asked, now looking stunned. "You haven't done anything."

"No," I said, feeling frustrated with myself for avoiding the issue in the first place, "It's what I _haven't _done."

"I don't follow you," Mallick said, still puzzled.

I took a deep breath. It was now or never. I was going to tell him.

"You know that note I got a few days ago?" I asked, and Mallick nodded. I plunged on, "Well, it was from an old friend of mine, Lawrence Gordon- you might have heard of him somewhere-"

"I have," he said, nodding seriously, "He was the one who alerted the authorities when he cut off his foot and escaped from the Jigsaw trap."

I was stunned that he knew so much. It had never been in the paper or anything, since Dr. Gordon (I refused to refer to him as Lawrence now) and his now-divorced wife Alison had paid the papers quite a bit to keep the whole affair quiet. The only way you could find any documentation of it at all was if you logged onto Google, and searched through all the rubbish that came up, and found an online article that had been released by the press following the Gordon's divorce. Alison had apparently paid quite a lot of money to humiliate her ex-husband, which did the job, although he was still at the hospital. Alison Gordon had always pissed me off, but after that incident, I _hated _her, because I was also one of the one's to cop the flak for it.

"How do you know that?"

To my shock, Mallick looked sheepish. Blushing a deep crimson, he looked down, deliberately not looking me in the face. "Well…I kind of looked it up on the internet on your day off," he mumbled.

"You what?" I was more surprised than angry, but nevertheless, my voice carried throughout the entire room. More than a few people looked up from their plates. They saw me, did a double take at my fading black eye, and cautiously went back to their food.

"I'm sorry." Unlike me, Mallick's voice seemed to be getting softer and softer by the minute. I looked at him, _really _looked at him, and saw that he felt genuinely guilty.

Damn. I wasn't exactly doing a great job of making Mallick feel any better. "I'm not angry," I said, leaning forward slightly. He looked up. "Seriously, I'm not," I said, anticipating his next question, "I'm just surprised that you went so far to actually find out what happened."

"I shouldn't have done it," Mallick admitted, "But…I had to find more out about you. I felt awkward asking." He looked away again.

I smiled. "Don't be. You can ask me anything, you know?"

Finally, he smiled back at me. "Okay. Tell me more about this note from Dr. Gordon." Somehow, he'd picked up on the fact that I didn't want to refer to him as Lawrence. Not that that was a bad thing, of course.

I opened my mouth to start, when Addison passed by again. "Hi, boys," she cooed, resting on the table so that everyone could practically see down her top- and I do mean _everyone. _It was disgusting. "What are we talking about?"

Once again, I opened my mouth to snap back a reply, but, to my surprise, Mallick beat me to it. "None of your damn business," he snarled, glaring at her with open dislike.

Addison flinched slightly. "Goodness, doesn't _someone _have a bit of a temper today?" she trilled, ignoring me for the moment and focusing all of her attention to Mallick. "What's the matter, honey?"

Mallick stood up. So did I. I wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen, but one thing was for certain: Addison had heard some of our conversation. That bitch. My hands curled into fists, and I felt anger spark into life. I never usually got angry when I was with Mallick, but Addison was here, and she had invaded our privacy. That was a perfectly logical reason to get angry, right?

She eyed both of us, smirking slightly. Her dark eyes lit on me. "Wow. Talk about a face only a mother could love."

Ha. Cute. From anyone else, I would have applauded the insult.

Coming from Addison, though, and that did nothing to stop my anger from building. My nails bit into my palm, and I was eerily reminded of how I used to be when I took drugs. My moods often got out of control, and I was nearly always in some sort of rage. This was kind of like back then. That thought alone made me uncurl my fists, swallow back the millions of insults I would have thrown back at Addison. I was at rehab to get better. I wasn't going to screw it up now by punching a woman.

Glancing at Mallick, I saw that he was also calming himself down. If anyone else had been looking, they wouldn't have been able to tell that he was any less angry, but I knew. I could tell when Mallick was trying to calm down, because the two of us were so alike.

He glared at Addison for a moment more, and then turned to me. "Come on, let's go," he said. I nodded, and the two of us set off for a place where we could not be interrupted.

**XxX**

Aside from when Addison and Laura inconveniently just 'happened' to be passing by someone's room when we were on our way to Mallick's, nobody was really enforcing the 'not being allowed in other people's rooms except at said time' rule. It was practically like being back at the apartment, except that Homeward Bound didn't seem to be about to fall down around us.

The two of us were sitting on Mallick's bed. I don't know about Mallick, but I was kind of regretting leaving my doughnut behind; I was tired and hungry, and, as the two of use sat there, quietly reliving the whole scene with Addison again, my stomach growled. Mallick heard it, and smiled. "Hungry?" he asked.

"A little," I admitted. Did getting angry make you more hungry or something? I mean, I'd be hungry before, but now…I was _famished. _That was another new word Mallick had taught me. I was kind of getting the hang of using all these new big words.

"So about this note," Mallick began. I groaned inwardly. I'd though he'd forget about it, nearly punching Addison Corday in the face and all…but no such luck.

But, a promise _was _a promise, after all, and if I was going to keep up my end of the bargain, I had to tell Mallick the truth.

"Well…Dr. Gordon and I were kidnapped by the Jigsaw Killer, as you know." He nodded, urging me to go on. I took a deep breath. Here was the part I was kind of uncomfortable about. Telling Mallick about my time with Lawrence Gordon. "I know six hours doesn't sound like a whole lot of time, but it was enough for us to talk and become…friends." I paused, to see Mallick's reaction. Strangely enough, he looked calm. That was comforting. I continued on: "Well, okay, we dated for a while. But we didn't do anything, I swear!" I was suddenly panicking, worried that Mallick was going to condemn me for going out with a guy, no matter how long ago it might have been.

To my shock, he was still calm, level-headed. Wow. He really was more than I deserved. "It's okay," he said, shrugging. "It's in the past now. Go on."

"And…well…eventually he turned around and said that he didn't want anything to do with me anymore. That hurt, but I moved on. Or, well, I thought I had. A few days ago, he sent me a letter."

"What did it say?" Mallick whispered, leaning in close. I could smell his aftershave. It was a nice smell.

I trembled slightly. "It said…oh, it said that he was going to see me very soon. It was really creepy, you know? And I don't want to see him again; that'd be too much for me right now."

I could see it in his face- Mallick was genuinely worried for me. He didn't seem to be judging me at all, and…well, it felt great. Totally amazing. He really was the best friend I'd ever had.

Mallick smiled. "And I was worried it was something _I _did!" He laughed weakly. "I wish you'd have told me sooner."

"I'm sorry," I said. What else could I say? He was right. I _had _made him worry needlessly.

"Don't be sorry," Mallick said- almost ordered. "It's not your fault Dr. Gordon has appeared in your life again. But this time, you have someone with you to get you through it- I mean, if he ever _does _turn up." He looked down, and blushed. I guessed he wasn't used to making such speeches. Well, I wasn't exactly used to hearing them, either, but I was grateful nevertheless.

"Thank you, you know," I said, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. I mean, I could have at least made the effort to look somewhat decent today, instead of just throwing on clothes like I usually did. "For…being here for me."

I rested my hands on his chest thoughtfully. He placed his hands over mine and smiled. The fire of passion was still in his eyes, but I could tell his thoughts were turning to more immediate concerns.

Like us.

"You're welcome," he said, almost shyly. Then, he grew more serious. "From now on, don't hold things back from me. I mean it. I can take everything you can throw at me and more."

"Really?" I laughed, sliding my hands up and around his neck. His skin was warm beneath my fingers, and I remembered how much I'd enjoyed kissing him the other day- how _right _it had felt.

"Really."

"Let's see." I leaned in, and kissed him.

**MPOV**

Reasonable discussion vanished. A bit of that dark temper from the confrontation with Addison Corday started to rise in me, but I simply channelled that intensity into passion as we pulled each other closer on the bed. Remembering the intensity of the other day when Adam had kissed me out of the blue, I smiled through the kiss, for once able to fully relax while being this close to another person. It had been a long time since I'd been able to be this close to someone without actually freaking out and becoming paralysed with fear, convinced that my attackers were stalking me.

No, this was the first time since the attack I'd been able to get really close with someone, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying it.

Running his fingers through my hair, Adam shifted his mouth down and kissed my neck softly. "You are…amazing," he told me. And I could tell that he meant it. His whole face glowed with affection for me.

We kissed again, pulling each other closer. Adam's hands slipped under the bottom of my shirt. I'd stupidly chosen a simple dark blue dress shirt- that wasn't a button-down kind- and I wished now that I'd worn one that buttoned up. Adam's hands trailed upward toward my stomach, just barely tracing my chest with his fingers. Wherever he touched me, I felt a spark of warmth. It was nice.

Speaking of how close and warm we were, this kind of reminded me of the time I'd been attacked by three masked men in the street. They'd held me close then, and there had been warmth as well, but…the passion in that had been all wrong. That little spark of warmth that I'd felt when they first grabbed me soon developed into a flame, and then into a full-fledged blaze. They'd held the fire to my arm, and then…

I could feel it all over again.

I shuddered. Adam, maybe thinking it was some kind of reaction to him, kept kissing me. Deep, powerful kisses.

It was then that I realized something. Thinking of the attack and the fire got me thinking about my father. And thinking about my father…I wondered how he would react if he saw me now, making out with my best friend. He'd told me repeatedly how he wanted grandchildren, how he was just waiting for me to meet a nice girl, and get married…

For me to do this…to be with Adam and pretend to my father that I was someday going to provide him with grandchildren…

I couldn't do this right now.

I wriggled out of Adam's reach. "No…don't."

Adam stopped immediately because that was the kind of guy he was. "Too much?" he asked. I nodded. "That's okay. We don't have to do that."

He reached for me again, and I moved farther away. "No, I…the last time I was close to someone like this, I…" I let my voice trail away, trying to not relive the attack again.

Adam got it straight away. "Oh. Hey, that's okay. I didn't mean to-"

I swallowed, feeling stupid. "I'm sorry, Adam. I just can't. Not right now."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. All right. I Understand."

"I…I hope I can get over this soon," I mumbled. "I like you, Adam. I like you a lot."

The bells began to ring. Adam stood up. "I like you too, Mallick." He smiled gently, somewhat bitterly. "Just know that you have someone you can count on too, all right? I'm here for you."

"Thank you," I said, feeling embarrassed and stupid. Adam looked back. He'd just been about to leave. No-one really enforced the amount of time you could spend in each other's rooms, but once the bells went, well, that's when the security guards began to start prowling around the centre. You didn't want to be caught by one of them.

"No," Adam said softly. "Thank _you." _

And with those words, he left the room, leaving me to curse my own stupidity.

**APOV**

I wasn't exactly sure how I felt, as I began making my way to where Eric was going to pick me up. I was ecstatic that we'd made out, of course, but I also felt a little…strange. I really couldn't describe it. So many things had happened today. There was all the usual crap that went on at rehab, and then there was Mallick confronting me about that damned note, and then the Addison affair…and then…

The reality of what Mallick and I had just done hit me fully, the memories hitting me with the force of a small truck. I could still feel his warm lips, nervous but willing, on mine. All other thoughts, even the ones including Lawrence Gordon and the Jigsaw Killer, suddenly seemed unimportant.

And well, thinking of Mallick and how much we'd confided in each other today, I kind of wasn't paying attention to where I was going.

I turned the corner blindly, only to see someone standing in my way. It took me a moment to place who they were, but when I did-

"Hoffman?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16.**

**Ravishing Returns and Soon-to-be Releases.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

"Hoffman?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The man standing before was none other than Mark Hoffman, the man whose sister my ex-friend Seth Baxter had killed.

I just sort of… stared.

Pretty rude, I know, but seriously, Hoffman had appeared out of _nowhere_, and was now standing in front of me, looking incredibly awkward.

I hadn't the slightest idea of what to say. I mean, the last time we'd met, Hoffman had come at me like a ton of bricks, and had punched me in the face- I _still _had bruises from that. They were fading, and I knew Hoffman had been grieving when he'd hit me, but _still. _

My face still freaking hurt.

Unconsciously, without realising I was doing so, I touched my face gently. The bruises were fading, but the skin was still tender. Hoffman watched me, the strangest expression on his face. He cleared his throat, and said, "Adam, I-"

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out, interrupting him. I tried to keep my voice neutral, but it was kind of hard. I mean, I'd _trusted _this guy, and he'd punched me in the face- literally.

I totally wasn't prepared for a situation like this.

I opened my mouth again, to say what, I hadn't the faintest idea, but before I could utter a word, Hoffman held both of his hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender. "Look, Adam, I came to apologise," he mumbled, staring straight down at the ground. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at me.

"Apologise?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Hoffman smiled faintly. "Yes, apologise," he said. "If you'll let me, that is."

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. This conversation was quickly becoming stranger and stranger by the minute. I'd seriously expected to scream and yell at Hoffman for bruising my face, but right now, I didn't feel angry. I was hurt, sure, but not angry. It was like with Mallick- I couldn't stand being angry with either of them, for some bizarre reason. It wasn't logical, but then again, after everything that had happened so far in the past few weeks, I couldn't really judge what was logical and what wasn't.

In my bizarre train of thought, I sorted through these facts, comparing them to the situation with Mallick, and then with Hoffman, and even though I'd never done particularly well at school, I came up with a startling conclusion(another word I'd borrowed from Mallick's ever-growing vocabulary):

The fact that I couldn't stay mad at Mallick or Hoffman, it was the same feeling I'd once had with Seth. Who had been my best friend. I couldn't stay mad at Mallick or Hoffman because they were my _friends._

I mean, sure, Hoffman had punched me in the face, but Mallick had gone behind my back and looked me up on Google. If I could forgive Mallick for that (and it now seemed like a tiny thing to have stressed out about, but that's me for you), it only seemed like the right thing to do to at least give Hoffman a chance.

I was startled by my own admission. Seriously, the old Adam Faulkner (that was how I liked to think of myself, back in the dark days, when getting a hit of heroin was the only thing keeping me going) would _never _have even considered forgiving someone for giving me a black eye.

But I wasn't doing drugs anymore, and although you'd never catch me admitting it aloud, I felt kind of better without them. I could think clearly, for once, and I was thinking clearly and rationally right now.

Hoffman's deep, gravelly voice jerked me out of my bizarre thoughts. I was kind of grateful for that. I didn't like reminiscing too much, especially not about my past life. Hoffman was still talking, completely unaware of my bewildering thoughts. "As I was saying, Adam, these past few weeks, I've been feeling absolutely…well, _disgusted. _I feel disgusted about what I did to you, Adam…it was uncalled for. I guess I already knew you weren't the killer, but you should have seen her, Adam…" his voice broke a little, and I was shocked to see that the huge cop was now close to tears. I felt my heart give a painful lurch. Hoffman swallowed tightly and continued on; "I…I guess I just needed someone to blame, someone to strike out at, and I wasn't thinking straight, and…you were just…in the way, Adam."

I didn't say anything, just nodded and let him continue:

"I…I really needed someone to take my anger and grief out on, Adam, and you were right there, handcuffed…if I'd been thinking rationally, I would have told Eric to take the cuffs off of you, but instead I assaulted you like some lowlife." He bowed his head, again taking an immense interest in the floor. I got the impression that he didn't apologise very often. "I'm truly sorry for what I did to you, Adam," Hoffman said clearly. I blinked. "You probably don't believe it, but I really am sorry."

Again, I just stared.

Once again, pretty damn rude of me, I know, but you know what? I hadn't actually expected him to apologise. Most cops only mumbled something that sounded like an apology but could have been something else altogether.

Mallick notwithstanding, this was the first heartfelt apology I had ever received in my twenty-eight years.

It was like Christmas had come early.

There was no way in hell I was letting Mallick see that, though; ex-drug addict or not, I still had my pride. "I would've expected a big cop like you to not make a big speech out of it," I remarked. Of course, I had no idea if this was true; I'd only ever seen cops apologising on TV, and who knew if you could trust what the movies said?

I'd said the words teasingly, but I regretted them the instant they came out of my mouth. This probably hadn't been the best time for Adam Faulkner's infamous snarky sarcasm.

Hoffman's shoulder slumped. Guilt instantly started ripping at me.

"Sorry," I said hastily. "I'm being such an ass about it." I fidgeted uncomfortably.

"So you forgive me?" Hoffman asked, still staring at the floor. Was he checking for dirt or something?

"Yes," I said softly, all traces of humour gone now. "I forgive you."

Hoffman looked up. "Really?"

The bells rang just then, to tell us that us poor rehab attendees who had to get driven to rehab to hurry the hell up and get out of there, because they were closing up damned soon. I swore to myself angrily. Hoffman heard, and smiled. "Time to go?" he asked.

"Time to go," I agreed.

Hoffman drew himself to his full height, which was a frightening six foot six. "I know Eric isn't waiting out there," he said.

"Why not?" I demanded. It was just like Eric to forget about me. Or just not turn up altogether. I couldn't exactly say our relationship had improved any since he had first arrested me for drug use in a coffee shop. While his son was watching, I might add. The air between the two of us was still icy cold, so much so that I often got goosebumps when I was around him.

Hoffman's smile grew. He knew all too well about the frigid tension between me and Eric Matthews. "Because I told him I'd drive you back today."

I relaxed slightly. "Oh."

"Better get going, hadn't we?" Hoffman asked.

I started; the night guards were strolling the area, giving us suspicious looks. "Oh. Right. Yeah."

We hurried out of Homeward Bound, ignoring the dirty looks from Carla, the bitch who was also the receptionist. Hoffman's big black boat of a car was waiting for us outside, and again, I marvelled at how big it was. It made all the other cars (the few that still remained) look like toys. We jumped in, and as Hoffman pulled away from the curb, I saw all the lights in Homeward Bound go out. I found my thoughts turning to Mallick, and I wondered how he was sleeping. If his sleeping habits were anything like mine, surely they were getting better?

As we drove, we passed Saint Eustace Hospital, and I shuddered. I could practically feel Dr. Gordon's coldness from this far away. Again, my thoughts were drawn to the note he had given me. _It seems inevitable that you and I will meet again. _

I would not be surprised in the slightest if we did. I mean, this was Lawrence Gordon! Anything was possible with him. I only prayed it wasn't anytime soon. After everything that had happened, Mallick and I deserved a little peace, so we could sort out everything, and slowly get past our horrific pasts. And now that Hoffman had apologised, maybe, just maybe, life could start getting back to normal.

Or, as normal as life can be for two ex-drug addicts.

**XxX**

Hoffman must have been driving like an absolute maniac, because we got to my apartment in next to no time. As we pulled up, Hoffman frowned. "What's this?" he said, sounding annoyed.

I looked out the window. To my surprise, Ivan, my landlord, was standing out the front, waiting for us. At first I might have thought he was trying to get rid of some drunk homeless bum who was in the doorway (we had a troupe of them who had taken an interest in sleeping in the doorway , taking great delight in keeping everyone else awake by shouting drunkenly), because that was what usually happened, and it always fell upon Ivan to get rid of them, lest he lose the few people he actually had renting rooms.

But no, there was no pathetic drunk- it was just Ivan, and as we slowly got out of Hoffman's car, it became apparent that he had been waiting for us, because his face curved into a sadistic smile. I hated Ivan. He was an evil, sadistic man. He had also been the one to give me the envelope with Lawrence's note in it, so it was likely that he was in cahoots with the doctor that had once been my boyfriend.

"Been waiting for ya, Mister Faulkner," Ivan drawled as soon as we were in earshot. I scowled at him.

"What the hell for? You normally don't give a shit about me," I shot back. Hoffman laid a hand on my shoulder, silently warning me not to do anything stupid. I found that kind of ironic. And yes, that was another word I had learned from Mallick.

Ivan grinned; I could see all of his stained teeth perfectly, and I grimaced. Thank God I had never really gotten into smoking.

"Well, Mister, I've been told to give ya this." And he thrust another envelope into my hands.

I stared at it suspiciously. It was exactly the same as the previous one, yellowed with age. "Is this another note from Dr. Gordon?" I demanded. "Because I don't appreciate you screwing with me, Ivan."

Hoffman's grip tightened. "Dr. Gordon?" he asked. "What's he got to do with it?"

Ivan grinned. "Never ya mind, officer. No, Adam, this is strictly between ya and me."

I didn't like the sound of that. Not at all.

Apparently Hoffman didn't, either. "You will respect an officer of the law," he said sternly, prodding Ivan in his fat chance. "When I ask you a question, you damn well better answer it."

"Of course, officer," Ivan said greasily. "Whatever ya say, sir."

"Did you actually want anything else, Ivan, or are you just going to stand there and piss us off?" I demanded, taking a step forward. I can't say that that was a smart move. I mean, annoying, evil, sadistic man or not, Ivan was my landlord. I couldn't say much, otherwise I'd piss him off.

And if it's one thing I've learned, you do NOT want to piss off your landlords.

Ivan didn't seem too offended, though. "Nah, I just wanted to give ya that envelope there," he said, and then shuffled back into the building.

"I really don't like him," Hoffman said thoughtfully.

I smiled. "Neither. Thanks for going all cop-ish on him, Hoffman."

"Call me Mark," Hoffman said suddenly.

I was startled. "Um, really?"

"Sure," Hoffman- whoops, I meant _Mark- _said. "Only cops call other cops by their last names. Since you're not a cop, I'd rather you call me Mark. I call you Adam, after all."

I was stunned. What had brought this on? Not that it was a bad thing; it was awesome that Hoffman- I mean Mark- trusted me enough to get me to call him by his first name. It would take some serious getting used to, though.

I wasn't going to let him see my uncertainty, though. "Sure, sure, whatever," I said breezily.

Hoffman laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow morning, then."

"Yeah, bye," I said, giving him a quick wave before turning and going inside my crappy apartment building. I swear, Ivan has GOT to get someone in here to fix it up- it was going to be classified as a health and safety hazard before too long.

"G'night, Mister Faulkner," Ivan drawled from his desk. I ignored him.

When I got to my crappy apartment, I threw all of my shit onto the bed, including the envelope, and went and had a shower. I had to wait almost five minutes before the water stopped being brown; this place was truly disgusting. Once I'd gotten out of the shower, I considered opening my envelope, but decided against it. Too many god things had happened today to spoil it at the last moment with some disgusting letter from Ivan. I threw the letter on my bedside table, vowing to read it tomorrow.

To my surprise, I fell asleep almost instantly once my head hit the pillow.

And when I dreamed, I dreamed of kissing Mallick.

**XxX**

I woke up the next morning feeling exceptionally cheerful. Finally, everything was starting to get back to normal!

I couldn't help but grin, as I dressed and ate breakfast, very aware that it was probably Eric coming to pick me up this morning, but hoping for Hoffman instead. I mean, hey, you never knew. Maybe he _would _pick me up this morning. That would be awesome.

Then, just as I was about to leave, I remembered last night. Ivan. I sighed. I _really _hated that guy, but what could I do? He was my landlord, after all, and pretty much had full control over the room I slept in and the roof over my head.

Gah. I hated being vulnerable.

I wasn't about to let that get to me, though. I shoved the letter deep into my knapsack, where I'd probably forget about it until this time next year, and then I chanced a quick glance in the mirror, and then I was on my way.

Hoffman- I mean, _Mark- _was indeed the one to pick me up this morning. Bruised face or not, I jumped into his car with a huge grin on my face. Mark looked at me, amused. "Something exciting happening today?" he asked dryly.

"No, not really," I said, leaning back into the soft leather. Mark raised an eyebrow.

"What is it, then?"

I gave him a big smirk. "Oh, you know, I'm just happy to be alive and all."

Mark smiled in spite of himself. "Okay then."

On we drove.

**MPOV**

Carla was staring at me.

Again.

Seriously, was it _my _fault that my father called so often? It wasn't like I could actually do something to put a stop to it or anything. Not that Carla knew that. Or, well, if she did, then she just liked to piss me off by staring at me darkly, muttering insults whenever I opened my mouth to reply to one of my father's many (and increasingly frantic) questions.

"I already told you, Dad, I'm _not _pulling out early," I growled now.

Carla smirked at me. I gave her a very stormy look and turned away.

"Why ever not, Mallick?" Now my father was confused. He'd has this idea in his head for the past few days that he'd somehow be able to wrangle me out of rehab early. I hadn't told Adam, because I wasn't entirely sure how he'd react. But the fact that I was refusing my father's offer was proof enough that I was doing the right thing…right?

"_Because," _I said, and then took a deep breath. I'd always had a bit of a temper, one that had been cruelly enhanced by heroin, and was usually simmering down, but now, it was threatening to raise its' ugly head. I continued on: "Because, Dad, I have a- friend - here. I don't want to leave him."

Silence on the other end. I could tell my father was thinking my words over, wondering whether to believe me or not. I really couldn't blame him. In my younger days, I'd always been sort of a loner. I hadn't made friends easily, and that only got worse after-

Well, _that._

"I believe you," he said finally. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. There was confusion in his voice the next time he spoke. "All right, I'll let you stay, but…you're not going to get into that nasty business again, are you, Mallick?"

"No, no," I assured him hastily. Carla was eyeing me like a vulture, a grotesque smirk playing at her too-red lips. I really hated her. "After everything that I've been through here, the last thing I'm going to do is go back to drugs."

"Good man." He sounded pleased. "All right, I'd best be off now, Mallick. And remember…if you _should _want to pull out early, I'll be right there."

Ugh. He still wasn't going to let it go. "I'll think on it," I said. I didn't like lying through my teeth, but desperate situations call for desperate measures.

Dad thanked me, and then hung up. I was left holding the phone like an idiot.

When Carla the snotty receptionist came to claim back her phone, her red talons stretching out, (technically, they were just fake nails, but on Carla, they looked like _claws)_, I practically thrust the phone into her bony hands and left without a word. Just being _near _Carla was enough to make my blood boil. I didn't want to say anything vulgar to her, lest I be sent back to my father early. _That _would be a nightmare.

I sighed. I supposed I should be glad that my father was trying to patch things up, but after years of hating him, I wasn't about to jump in his arms or anything.

**XxX**

Despite my annoyance, the day practically _sped _by. One moment I was sitting down in Joyce Dagen's squashy armchair, and the next thing I knew, it was almost time for our 'buddy time.' That was good. I could apologise yet again for accidentally interrupting the make-out session Adam and I had heavily engaged in the other day. I know he _said _he was okay with it, but I was desperate to make it up to him in some way, certain I had offended him somehow.

As I stalked back to my room, I began to think of ways to make it up to Adam.

**XxX**

After a few hundred glances in the mirror (okay, maybe it was _that _many times, but hey, I wanted to make sure I looked at least somewhat decent for Adam), I simply lay down on my bed, arms behind my head. I was worried about how Adam might react to what I had to say, but I sure as hell was _not _going to let him see that.

Soon enough, my door creaked open, and then he was sitting on the end of my bed, grinning from ear to ear. "Why are you so happy, huh?" I teased, sitting up.

Adam was ecstatic. "Guess who I saw last night."

"Justin Bieber?" First thing that came to mind. Then again, if Adam saw Justin Bieber, he wouldn't be grinning. He'd probably be screaming. Unless he let a fist fly, and ruin the fact that so many women adored…

Adam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, smartass. Like Justin Bieber would come _here. _No, I saw Hoffman last night."

I felt a twinge of jealously, but I made sure I didn't let it show. "The man who punched you in the face?"

Adam nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. He apologised for that, though."

"Yeah?"

Adam sighed. "Yeah. He was nearly crying, man. I felt bad for him…and he felt bad for me. But life is finally getting back to normal. That's why I'm happy."

I smiled, all traces of jealously gone. "I'm happy for you, Adam." I racked my brain for what Adam had said about Hoffman, and then came up with: "Does it feel good to have someone else back?"

Adam ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, you have no _idea," _he said.

We chatted for what seemed like hours, but was probably only one- two at the most. I was ecstatic to hear that Adam was so happy. After being accused of being both a murderer AND a rapist, I figured that the guy needed some happiness. I didn't like seeing Adam unhappy.

Adam eyed me curiously. "We've been talking about me for ages," he said, leaning his chin in his hands. "What's been going on with you, Mallick?"

I swallowed tightly. I really didn't want to bring it up, but now that Adam had asked…

Screw it. We were in a relationship, and we needed to be honest with each other.

"My father has been bothering me," I said bitterly.

"Bothering you? How so?" Adam asked. He was so understanding. But the worst was yet to come.

I took a deep breath before I let loose. "He…he wants to pull me out of rehab early."

Adam sat up. "That's crazy! We've all seen what happens to people that get out of rehab early. They usually go straight back to their dope. Are you messing with me, Mallick?"

I laughed weakly. "I wish I was. No, my father, for some bizarre reason, wants to pull me out of rehab."

"What'd you say?" Adam demanded.

"I said no way." That was the truth. I prayed that Adam would believe me.

He relaxed. "Ah, okay. I panicked for a second, because if you left, I'd be left with Addison and Laura…" he let out a huge sigh.

"I wouldn't do that to you," I said seriously. "Besides, there wouldn't be much point in pulling out now, anyway."

**APOV**

"Why not?" I asked furiously. I hadn't meant for my words to be so harsh- but such was the way of life- I always messed things up.

Mallick flinched a little. "Well…because we-"

He was talking, but I wasn't really listening. I'd heard all I needed to hear.

Time was running out. And fast.

Then I'd be out in the open, open for Lawrence to come, and find me-

"Oh, you have got to be _shitting _me."

"I wish I was," Mallick said softly. "But it's true; we only have a week left in rehab."

I had no idea whether to be excited or not about that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17.**

**The end of a not-so-fabulous foundation for a new life. **

**XxX**

**MPOV**

You know when you were a kid, and you tried to hold water? And, no matter how hard you tried, it'd always end up slipping between your fingers?

That's what the next few days were like- they literally just slipped away. Since Adam's (and mine) time at Homeward Bound was quickly drawing to a close, our activities were wildly different to what they had been like when we had first arrived at rehab. We were no longer discussing our past with Bobby and Joyce Dagen; we were now looking to the future, and telling them of our plans. When I told Joyce that I planned to go back to university after dropping out, her eyes brimmed with tears, and she gave me a tight hug. Adam had said that the same thing had happened when he'd told her that he planned to be a professional photographer.

Don't get me wrong, it felt amazing that we'd actually gotten to that stage in our rehab, but…it was _exhausting. _Random people that I had never really spoken to stopped me in the corridor, and congratulated me on making it this far. Laura and Addison stopped being absolute bitches to me and Adam, although I wasn't sure how long they could keep _that_ up.

Dad was ecstatic. He'd told me about a hundred times over the phone. "I'm just so proud of you, son," he'd say gleefully into the earpiece, oblivious to the fact that he was unintentionally making things between me and Carla even worse, since talking to him meant using her phone and all, "I am just so _proud _that you made it this far."

"Are you saying you didn't think I'd make it this far at all?" I asked teasingly. Sure, things were still a little tense between Dad and I, but we were working things out. Plus, I was in a REALLY good mood today. I wasn't ashamed to admit that Adam was the sole reason for it.

"Don't be silly," Dad replied, pretending to be outraged, "of course I did, Mallick!"

"Sure, sure," I fake-sneered into the telephone, "You're just bullshitting me."

And so our banter would go on like that, until Carla got the shits and took the phone off me. But even she had lightened up, if that was at all possible for such a bitch. Sure, she still gave me horrible looks, but I could tell she was happy at the same time- probably because I was leaving Homeward Bound at last. I'd once overheard Jill Tuck jokingly comment that no-one before me had ever used the phone as much as I did. I wasn't entirely sure whether to be proud of that or not, but at the moment, I really couldn't care less.

Because I was finally going back to my old life- well, my old life _without _drugs. It felt great- like I'd been in a cage for the last two years of my life, and now it seemed like the door was finally opening. In just a few days, I was going to start over. I was going to be _free._

And, best of all, Adam was going to be there with me.

We'd organised it weeks ago- we'd promised each other that although we wouldn't be in rehab together anymore, we'd be sure to keep in close contact with each other. That meant lots of visits. To keep up with our daily gym routine at Homeward Bound, I'd even booked Adam and me in for a year at one of the best gyms around. It was one of those rare moments when I actually didn't feel snobby for using my seemingly never-ending stash of money in front of Adam. Since our financial backgrounds were so different, I often felt cruel when I mentioned using large amounts of money for trivial purposes, but I was going to make sure that my cash went towards something actually beneficial; like the gym, for instance. I was never going to lower myself to drug use again.

Things had improved for Adam, too. Now that he had Hoffman back (I tried not to let the jealously show when Adam mentioned his name, but it was a tough call), Adam had started smiling a lot more. Smiling, and laughing. He did his best to keep his temper in check, and since he had been deprived of both heroin and alcohol for over two weeks, that was done pretty easily. It was kind of frightening how much alcohol and drugs could change you. Hoffman (or 'Mark' as Adam now called him) drove him to and from Homeward Bound, and although it seemed a bit strange for an ex-criminal and a policeman to be close friends, friends they were.

As I'd said before, it was hard not to be jealous, but Hoffman made Adam happy.

And I wanted nothing more than for Adam to be happy.

His mental state wasn't the only thing that had changed, either. Adam had started taking better care of himself; he'd cut his hair, for one thing, and although it was now short, it was as messy as ever, but you know what? It suited him. His clothes were neater- I could have sworn that he'd even ironed them himself. Now, on anyone else, that might sound strange, but it was a nice change for Adam, and, clean or dirty, he was as cute as ever. When I'd asked him what brought on the change, his face went dangerously red and he shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered something indiscernible. For some reason, that moment struck me as incredibly important, and the memory of it is burned deep into my brain; I could recall it perfectly, a moment-by-moment replay.

I'd asked him to repeat himself, and when he'd looked up at me, his face was still red, and he appeared almost shy. Adam, _shy? _That was different. Usually I was the one to go red and mumble nonsense. That was a definite change- but, I had to admit, one I found irresistible.

His eyes had dropped to the floor, as he muttered, "I wanted to look good for you. You know, to prove that I'm not such a scumbag as I seem."

I had assured him he looked just fine, and then sealed the deal with a kiss, which was also quite unusual for us. Adam is usually the one to initiate any sort of romantic behaviour between us, in his surly, aggressive way, and I was usually the one who had to be coerced into it. But no, over time, that had changed as well. Adam was still the aggressive one, but we were now equals.

And now, standing in the middle of my near-bare room, staring thoughtfully at my half-packed suitcase (since it was pretty much our second-last day at Homeward Bound), I couldn't deny that being equals in a relationship felt great. I still wasn't entirely sure what I was going to tell my father, but for the moment, I figured what he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Letting out a sigh, I turned to my desk, which was still littered with the dozens of CDs I'd brought from home. Picking them up, glancing through them, I wondered how I could have listened to such depressing rubbish. I know I'd bought them to block out the nightmares, but seriously? Hardcore screaming punk music about death? Could I have picked out a _worse_ collection to try and invoke sleep?

Emitting a rather unattractive snort, I stacked the CDs neatly and placed them inside the suitcase. Rubbish or not, I'd still spent good money on them, and I didn't believe in wasting money, despite the hundreds of thousands my father made yearly. Who knows, maybe they would come in handy later.

As the last of the depressing CDs went into the suitcase, a piece of paper caught my eye. Frowning, I picked it up, and saw that it was the report on our rehab 'buddy.' Despite the majority of our sessions being filled with heart-to-heart discussions and make-out sessions, the report was nearly finished. Good thing, too. We were all due to hand it in tomorrow to Jill, right before we left. Despite my earlier assumptions, the point of the report was not entirely useless. It was a test of sorts, to see which inmates (I'd come to think of all the other people as _inmates, _as though were in a prison- or a cage) actually completed their tasks, to see which people had the correct motivational drive. Adam and I would be passing that test for sure.

With my room nearly stripped bare, there was little I could do except lie back on my bed and wait for Adam. Since it was only early, I didn't expect to see him anytime soon.

But, as always, I hoped I would.

**APOV**

I woke that morning before my alarm went off. Surprised at my early rising, I blearily got up, feeling a grin spread over my face. Today was the second-last day of my time at Homeward Bound rehabilitation centre. And, even though I'd freaked out before when Mallick had told me that we had just a week left, things had turned out okay. In a surprising act of aggressiveness, Mallick had sworn that we'd stay in close contact, and had even booked us into a lustrous, excellent gym- one of the best. I'd even managed to snare Carla's computer and taken a look at one of the nearby colleges- they offered photography, and I'd felt a smug satisfaction in seeing that I met most, if not all, of their requirements for the advanced course, despite my never been to college or university before. All that photo-taking for Eric Matthews must have done me some good, after all.

But there was still one thing bothering me, and it sat at the bottom of my jeans pocket, as yellow and ominous as ever:

That damned envelope Ivan had given me. I still hadn't opened it, purely because everything had been going well so far, and I didn't want to maybe ruin my entire day just by opening a damned envelope. And I knew it probably would, because nothing coming from Ivan was very good.

But I knew I'd have to open it soon. It was nagging at me, always at the back of mind, and I knew it would stay there until I actually got the guts to open the damn thing. But, seriously, I _really _didn't want to. What if it was a note from Lawrence? _That _would definitely ruin my day, and I didn't want to start my new life in a sour mood- I have an uncanny tendency to ruin everyone else's day as well as my own when I'm in a shitty mood. And, really, Mallick didn't deserve that.

So, yeah, I knew I'd have to open it soon. But not today. Today was going to be a good day. I could just tell.

Thumping my alarm clock perhaps a little harder than was necessary, I stretched, yawned, and then began the same menial (yes, _another _word I'd picked up from Mallick) routine I had every day.

Once I was dressed and ready to go, I picked the envelope up, glared at it for a few seconds, and then shoved it deep into my pocket; for some reason, it felt important, and I couldn't seem to want to get rid of it. Then I closed my door behind me, and was standing on the sidewalk outside Ivan's shitty apartments.

Hoffman must have been on some sort of schedule as well, because not two minutes had gone by before he turned up, massive boat-car and all. "Eager to go, Adam?" Hoffman- I meant Mark- asked teasingly. I sneered back at him.

"The sooner I'm away from you, the better," I said seriously. Mark laughed outright.

"God, sometimes you're full of shit, Adam," he chuckled into the steering wheel. The sight of the massive cop shuddering with laughter suddenly struck me as _very _amusing, and I snickered to myself as I climbed into the massive hulk of a car.

As usual, the buildings and trees seemed to zoom past. "Excited to be free at last?" Mark asked. I laughed.

"Oh, Mark, you have no _idea." _

In all honesty, though, even though it was brilliant that I was finally leaving rehab, I felt nervous. I had never dealt well with change, and I knew that this was going to be one of the biggest changes in my life. Sure, I had Mallick with me, so it was probably going to turn out more than okay, but…I couldn't help but feel doubtful. Life hadn't exactly been kind to me so far, so I was hoping that all of that was about to change.

Mark seemed to notice my change of thought, and he slowed the car down enough to turn to look at me. "Is everything okay, Adam?" he asked, his face engraved with concern.

Screw this. This change was going to be the best thing for me, and I sure as hell was _not _going to waste my time feeling sorry for myself. This change was a _good _thing.

So I forced that doubt away, and grinned at Mark. "Sure, old man," I said breezily, leaning back into the leather seats, "Everything's just peachy."

Mark didn't look convinced. "Are you _sure, _Adam?"

I yawned. "What is this, twenty questions? _Yes, _old man, I'm fine. Just a little nervous about leaving Homeward Bound, that's all." Well, that was MOST of the problem- Mark didn't need to know that I hadn't opened the envelope from Ivan just yet, that I was dreading it.

And he certainly didn't need to know that as soon as I was out in the open, Lawrence Gordon would come to find me. I was sure that he would, and I was kind of torn between feeling frightened by that prospect, or excited (because some stupid part of me still admired and envied the doctor for who he was, despite the creepy behaviour as of recently).

But yeah, considering what had happened to both me and Mallick recently, _this _was practically nothing. That knowledge made me feel a bit better; with Mallick and Mark with me, I'd get through this.

I was sure of it.

Mark's deep voice jerked me out of my positive semi-slumber. "So, what are you guys doing today?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Mallick said something yesterday about finishing our reports and handing them in to Jill, but…" I let my voice trail off, yeah, wondering what the hell we were actually going to do today. I knew that tomorrow, we only had to meet Jill in the morning, and then we were finally free. But as for today…

Mark chuckled, the car speeding along the streets again. "Getting you to do paperwork? That probably _will _take all day!"

I gave him the finger, laughing. Mark returned it, somehow managing to fake-sneer at me and drive perfectly at the same time. I sure as hell couldn't manage something like that. Maybe it was a cop thing.

The drive to Homeward Bound was better than usual, and when it was time for me to get out, I almost didn't want to.

**XxX**

"So, Adam, have you decided what university you'll be going to?" Bobby Dagen's voice jerked me out of my thoughts. I blinked.

"Um, kind of."

"Do you want to elaborate on 'kind of'?" Bobby asked, opening his notebook.

I glared at him. "You're doing it again, Bobby."

Bobby smiled. "Doing what?"

I sighed. "Being all therapeutic and such. This is pretty much the last time you'll ever see me. Am I really that broken that you're keen to get in a last-minute therapy session?"

Bobby laughed gently. "Only joking, Adam. Besides, you'll miss this, believe it or not."

"Miss what?" I asked suspiciously. Bobby's answer was simple.

"Having someone to talk to, of course."

I felt warmth soak my cheeks. "I have someone to talk to outside of here."

"You do?" Bobby asked. "That's great!"

"Yeah," I said, thinking of Mallick and his earnest face, "It really is."

**MPOV**

I sighed. I _hated _not having anything to do. It made me feel useless, in a bizarre kind of way.

There was no more packing to do. My report was complete. I'd already spoken to Joyce.

I knew what my problem was. Adam wasn't here. But unlike me, he didn't live at Homeward Bound, and it would take longer for him to get everything sorted, which meant that I probably wouldn't see him for a few more hours, at least.

I sighed. In this place, Adam was really my rock, and without him, I soon became bored shitless. Unthinkingly, I raised my hand to my shirt collar…and then stopped. Frowning, I forced myself to put my hand back in my pocket and pull out a stick of gum instead. That collar-tugging was a thing of the past; there was no way in hell that I was going to let myself go back to old habits.

And while this stick of gum wasn't exactly the best thing for me, it sure as hell was a lot better than constantly tearing my shirts.

I made my way over to the door, thinking that I should probably get out and about instead of moping about in my room, when I stubbed my toe on the edge of my desk. I swear, I nearly swallowed my gum, it hurt that much. "ARGH!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs, hopping desperately on the one foot that didn't cane, and nearly losing my balance as I did so. Trust me to stub my toe on the second-last day at rehab. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it certainly did hurt a lot- it was as if someone had started a fire in my big toe, and was fanning the flames. I hoped it wouldn't interfere with our final gym class; Homeward Bound's personal trainer (we only had one, and he coached us all at once, shouting and waving his arms, as personal trainers do) wanted to really push us today, as a 'treat.'

Stupid personal trainer. My foot was a bit more important than doing pushups or whatnot…if I could even still do that.

Grimacing, I hobbled over to the bed, and peeled off the sock I had been wearing. My toes was red and angry, and it hurt when touched. Still, I didn't think it was broken. I had had a broken leg before, and this didn't hurt nearly as much…

I winced. I didn't want to think of that right now, especially when I was so close to getting out. There was no point fretting about the past right now, no matter how gory and bloody it was.

I sighed. It was going to be a long two hours without Adam.

**APOV**

An hour and a half to go.

That was how long it was until I got to see Mallick, which kind of pissed me off, but I didn't let it show. I didn't want to get in trouble on my last day of rehab- that would be pretty stupid. Besides, I'd waited longer hours to see him, and I'd managed to live through _that_, so I was sure that I would be fine.

And, after all, there were worse things I had lived through.

After Bobby's little 'joke', I had to go through some other basic exercises. I aced them, which was a nice surprise. Like I'd said before, I had never really done well at school, and to ace something like this was, well, awesome!

The only thing I could really complain about had nothing to do with Homeward Bound itself- it was that damned envelope. Despite concentrating and doing well in the exercises with Bobby, it had always been there, nagging at me from the back of my mind, overwhelming me with its ominous presence. I knew I'd have to open it soon, because now, I was just too damn curious not to.

I know they said curiosity killed the cat, but to hell with stupid wives tales. I was going to open that damned thing, and soon.

At the end of my time with Bobby, I excused myself and hurried to the bathroom, rummaging through my pockets to find the yellowing envelope. Once I was sure that I had it, I clenched it tight inside my fist, and locked myself in one of the cubicles. Closing the lid, I sat down on the toilet and brought the ragged, yellow thing out of my pocket.

Taking a deep breath, I ripped it open.

There. I had done it. Now, to see what exactly the hell Ivan had sent me.

Nervous, but wanting to get it over and done with already, I pulled the bit of paper out. Unlike the last letter Ivan had given me, the paper was not pristine, so white that it hurt to look at it. Instead, it was a dirty yellow colour, not unlike the envelope itself. It was exactly the kind of paper Ivan himself would use.

Letting out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, I thumbed the messily folded paper open.

When I saw what was on it, my eyes widened, and I began to swear at the top of my lungs. "Shit! _Shit!" _

My temper, usually kept in check these days, began to boil. I grounded my teeth and slammed my fist into the cubicle door. It hurt, but, consumed by my sudden shock and anger, I really didn't give a shit.

It was a bill.

For over five thousand dollars- money I did _not _have.

And the expiry date had been yesterday at six in the afternoon.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that, if I didn't pay up damned soon, Ivan was going to kick me out. I'd have no place to live.

"Shit," I growled. _"Shit." _

Talk about ruining a guy's day.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18.**

**A Reluctant Taste of 'Outside' Tidbits.**

**XxX**

**MPOV**

Have you ever watched those nature shows, where an injured bird is rescued by rangers or someone, and, after a period of time, they release it back into the wild? And how, despite being taken care of and all that, the bird or whatever always soars into the sunset, never to be seen again?

Pretty lame comparison, I know, but that was the only thing I could think of to adequately describe how I- and probably all the other inmates at Homeward Bound- felt on our very last day. I woke up that morning feeling ecstatic, but also a little gloomy, mainly because my room was bare, and the routine that I'd gotten used to during my time here was about to be shattered. Nevertheless, I was excited, pumped to really get back into life, and share everything with Adam. Now there'd be no restrictions, and we could hang out as much as we'd like. Of course, there was still the small (ish) barrier of, well, my father to contend with, but I figured that if I kept our relationship secret, he'd have no problem with us hanging out together.

After double-checking that everything was where it should be (my bags, or in the bin), and dressing hurriedly, not particularly in the mood to make myself look neat and meticulous as I usually did (I had a knot of nerves, and as time dragged slowly by, they didn't ease- if anything, they got WORSE), I began the long task of heaving my baggage outside.

Fifteen minutes later, I was still attempting to drag my suitcase out of the doorway. "This…is _impossible," _I panted, mopping my forehead clumsily. Where had all my strength gone? It seemed to have crawled away, much like time was attempting to do.

"Hey, do you need some help, buddy?" An unfamiliar voice jerked me out of my reverie. I looked up, to see Bobby Dagen standing over me, an amused smile on his face. His voice was unfamiliar because, while I'd needed therapy just as much as anyone else (maybe even more), I'd only ever spoken to Bobby's wife, Joyce, who had an irritating habit of answering my questions with questions. I'd seen him before, but never spoken to him. But he didn't seem half bad.

"Yes, please," I said, trying to smile, but only managing a weak grimace. Bobby laughed and picked up my suitcase with one hand. I stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Weak with nerves, huh? You're not the only one it's happened to," Bobby chuckled. He clapped me on the should with his free hand. "Don't you worry, son, you'll soon be free enough."

I hoped he was right.

**APOV**

I was up that morning, even before the alarm went off. I was too full of nervous energy to really sleep, anyway. I was nervous and angry because of Ivan's shitty letter, and how I was going to be evicted from my apartment any day now, and I really just wanted to punch Ivan in the face. On the brighter side, I was nervous because today was the day that I was actually going to leave rehab for good. I was going to be a free man at last. And, best of all, I was going to be able to share that experience with Mallick, my best friend and the guy who I was currently in a relationship with. The good definitely outweighed the bad, but damn, the bad was _really_ pissing me off.

I mean, why the shit did Ivan have to give me that _now?! _Sure, I'd missed a lot of rent money, but how the hell was I supposed to pay that in rehab? I couldn't work, and all the money from my photography had been confiscated by Eric-damn-Matthews-

Wait. He hadn't taken _all _of it.

I jumped to my feet, excited by this new prospect. When I'd been doing drugs, I'd been really stingy with my money- and I mean _really _stingy. I didn't trust banks back then, because I was sure that they'd find out what I'd been using the money for, and refuse to give it back to me, so I'd always kept a secret stash inside my apartment. Eric had already raided the place and taken most of it, but there was a floorboard underneath my bed…

Not bothering about getting dressed first, I dove underneath my bed, wrinkling my nose at the mildewy smell underneath. I really needed to clean underneath here, too, although it seemed like I had done it only yesterday…

I reached out, feeling for the loose floorboard, and, when I located it, I heaved it open. Hardly believing my luck, I stuck a hand inside. When I felt the bundle of notes, I let my fingers close around it, and, wasting no time, I wrenched it from under the bed.

Astounded and surprised that Eric hadn't actually found it, I began leafing through the notes. There wasn't enough to pay back Ivan- only four hundred dollars, total- but it was better than nothing. I supposed I could give it to Ivan to lessen the damage, but, being the big prick that he was, he wouldn't accept it anyway. No, it was better that I kept it. Maybe I could put it towards university or something. Or, you, know, maybe actually put it in the bank and get a job.

I stared at the bundle of notes, shocked at the options that this tiny bundle offered me. Yeah. I was going to do it. I was going to university. Screw whatever anyone else thought.

I was going to university, and there wasn't a damned person out there who could stop me.

Now, to actually go to rehab for the first time and get my life back in order.

Yeah.

**XxX**

When Mark drove up at eight-thirty, I'd been waiting outside for a good half an hour. Another thing I was sad about was that this would be the last time Mark and I would drive together, so I didn't want to waste any time being late or anything. That would've meant that we would have less time together, and, since we hadn't organised anything like Mallick and I had done, it was highly unlikely that we would see each other after this.

Though he'd given me a black eye, I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't going to miss Hoffman. Arguments and violence aside, he was one of the best friends I'd ever had, which was strange, considering that we'd actually met at a police station, and I'd been high on heroin at the time.

Still, life was full of weird shit, and this particular kind of weird shit was one I liked- it gave me a strange sense of peace, almost, and I REALLY didn't want it to end.

So I wanted to treasure every moment with Hoffman for as long as I could, because we might never see each other again after this.

Mark rolled down the window. "Jump in," he said, smiling, but there was something in his eyes that was amiss- he knew that this might be our last time talking together, like, ever. And he was sad about that too.

I leapt to my feet. "Hell, yeah," I said, my voice meant to be sounding cheery, and yet it didn't sound cheery at all. Hell, it sounded like I was depressed. So much for pretending to be happy about leaving this joint.

So, for what possibly may be the last time, I climbed into Mark's boat of a car, and settled myself down into the leather seats. The drive seemed to take longer than usual- I wasn't sure if that was just me, or whether Mark was actually driving more slowly today. Maybe he just wanted to savour the moment, like me. Or, you know, maybe there was a new speed limit for this area or some shit.

Anyhow, I was kind of happy that he didn't want to leave, either, because it meant that our friendship wasn't just one-sided.

And really, when I thought about it, Mallick and Mark were the only real friends I had right now. I mean, Seth certainly didn't count anymore.

And I figured that I needed all the friends I could get.

When Mark couldn't deny driving me around any longer, we pulled up to the front of Homeward Bound. I noticed that there were a lot of cars here this morning- friends or relatives of the inmates, probably.

It was time for me to get out and enter Homeward Bound for the last time, but, even as I unclipped my seat belt, I couldn't pull myself out of the car. I really didn't want to leave; to think that this might be the last time I'd ever get to talk to Mark…

"I don't want to leave," I choked out, surprised that my throat had swelled shut. I couldn't swallow. I could barely speak without sounding choked up. I hardly ever cried. But I felt like crying now.

Mark was silent for a few moments. "I don't want you to leave, either," he said quietly. He turned around in his seat, and smiled weakly. "We've been through a lot, haven't we?"

I absent-mindedly touched the part of my face that had once been heavy with bruising, and tender to touch. It wasn't completely healed just yet, but it was getting there. "Yeah," I murmured. My face didn't hurt anymore. I mean, yeah, Mark had given it to me, but he had been driven by his grief. I could understand that. I mean, it wasn't that much different to how I had felt after I'd escaped from that godforsaken bathroom, so I really wasn't in a position to judge him.

And he _had _apologised. And it turned out that Mark had become one of my closest friends.

"This doesn't have to be the last time we see each other," Mark said suddenly, his face lighting up. When I raised an eyebrow, he grinned and continued: "I mean, we're good friends, right? Let's keep in touch."

And then he gave me his home phone number, along with an email address. I grinned and accepted them eagerly- now I had contact with both my friends- Mark and Mallick.

Our farewell was pretty brief. Mark clasped both of my hands in one of his own, clapped me on the shoulder, and, as I was climbing out of the car, he said to me: "Go get 'em, Adam!"

Laughing, I gave him the finger, and walked into Homeward Bound for the last time.

Once I was actually inside the rehab, though, my smile faded. It would be awesome to phone Mark at home, talk to him whenever I wanted. But that would require me to have a house for that. And I wasn't going to have one very soon.

My spirits plummeting, I bit my lip and stalked further into the depths of rehab, wanting Mallick's company and yet not wanting him at the same time.

**MPOV**

Once all my luggage was packed neatly in the hallway, all I wanted to do was go and wait for Adam in the hallway, but of COURSE I couldn't do that.

All Bobby Dagen wanted to do was talk my ear off.

"I can't believe you're leaving already," he said brightly, practically walking me to the lunch hall- that was where Jill Tuck wanted us all, for one final goodbye. Apparently she took all inmates to heart, and wanted the very best for us. Heh, whatever. I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted to see Adam. "I mean, it seems like only yesterday everyone arrived!"

"Yeah, I'm sure," I grumbled. He was hauling me in the exct opposite direction to where I wanted to go.

"Well, all's well that ends well, I guess," Bobby laughed- was I supposed to understand what he was going on about?- and he pushed open the double doors that led to the lunch hall.

**APOV**

I craned my neck over the crowd to try and catch a glimpse of Mallick. Where the hell was he? I needed to tell him about my, ah, predicament. Because even though I'd received the letter from Carla yesterday, the pressure and stress of the situation had finally caught up ith me. It bubbled and seethed inside me, like a balloon waiting to burst. I hated being like that- it always made me angry.

When I couldn't find a trace of my boyfriend _anyway, _I sighed and grounded my teeth angrily. "Shit," I swore under my breath.

This was going to be a _long _assembly.

**MPOV**

As soon as the assembly was over (I probably should have paid Jill more attention, seeing as she was the one who saved Adam from jail and all, but…), I raced over to Adam, who wasn't ten feet away, and tugged at his sleeve impatiently. "Well?" I asked urgently, "What's the matter?"

He looked kind of started. I couldn't blame him. He'd been looking for me ever since the assembly started, but, naturally, he couldn't see me, seeing as I was standing behind him. I had to stand and endure watching my boyfriend get more and more uncomfortable, shifting his wait from one foot to the other, and grinding his teeth slightly as the time wore on. "I- how did you-"

"I was standing behind you the entire time. I couldn't say anything because Bobby kept shushing me," I said impatiently. People were leaving, and there were cheers upon cheers, so our conversation went mostly unnoticed. Except for one person. Carla was staring at the two of us, her expression ugly. We both turned to face her, and gave her our angriest stares. She recoiled, looking like she'd been slapped. I tugged him in the general direction of my room- which, I realised a shade too late, wasn't really my room anymore. But the room was empty, so it was as good a room as any. "Now, want to tell me what's going on with you? I thought we agreed that today was going to be fun." It suddenly occurred to me that I kind of sounded like my dad. That made me sick to my stomach, but before I could correct my mishap, Adam began talking.

"It's nothing," he mumbled.

"The hell it is, Adam." Not caring that the door was wide open, I leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were warm- deliciously so. The expression on his face when I pulled away was almost funny- his cheeks were warm with blood. I kissed him again, his neck this time. "Please, Adam, tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing, I told you," he said, trying to sound angry, but failing miserably. I chuckled, and kissed him again.

"What did I say to you, Adam? You can tell me anything, you know that." I kept up my attack kissing him whenever I got the chance. Adam was just like me- too stubborn for his own good. To get the answer I needed, I had to coerce it out of him.

He groaned. "Mallick, please."

"Tell me, and I might let up," I snarled, my lips curving up into a smile. _"Might, _that is."

He exhaled noisily. Closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He clenched and unclenched his fists. I sensed whatever he was going to tell me was something big, otherwise he wouldn't be this messed up over it- he was usually full-on making out with me by now.

"Mallick," he said. I raised an eyebrow. "I, uh…"

"I'm being evicted out of my house."

It took me a few moments for me to fully comprehend what he was saying. "You mean…?"

He nodded, his expression pained. "Yeah. I've got nowhere to go."

My first instinct was to completely flip, rage at that idiotic prick Ivan who put Adam in this mess, but, for one of the first times in my life, I swallowed my pride and took the time to think about this. Because, somehow, I thought I had a solution.

"Adam," I said. He looked up, looking puzzled. "I have an idea to get you out of this."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19.**

**Saviours not-so-anonymous.**

**XxX**

**MPOV**

"Dad, _please." _

Silence on the other end of the phone. I scowled. Ugh, it was killing me, Dad not answering me straight away. Usually Zachary Scott had an answer for everything. But now he was rendered speechless- a first. Now that I thought about it, my life was full of firsts at the moment. If you'd asked me nearly two months ago whether I thought I'd be begging my father (and begging was pretty much the only word to describe it- because flattery, threatening, and downright abuse hadn't worked so far) to let my close friend/boyfriend Adam Faulkner to stay at our place until he got back on his own feet, I would have doubled over in laughter. But yes, it was happening, and my father was reluctant- _too _reluctant, I should say, to let Adam stay with us. That pissed me off. I mean, what was the problem? We weren't drug addicts anymore, and Adam wasn't bald with a million tattoos or anything. At least, he didn't have any tattoos where I could see…

Finally, after nearly five minutes of absolute silence, in which I was slowly and steadily working through a packet of gum- no more shirt-tearing for me- his voice came back on. "Are you _sure _about this, Mallick?" he asked me.

I sighed. Of all the things that had happened lately, this was the _one _thing I was certain of. I mean, I'd had to coerce the truth out of Adam earlier today, and honestly? I didn't think I could let him walk the streets alone. Anything could happen to him. And it literally made my heart ache to think of something bad happening to Adam.

"Yes, Dad, I'm sure."

"Positively sure?" Now Dad sounded worried. "I mean, you haven't exactly had many close friends before, Mallick. How do you know this guy's not out to get you?"

I rolled my eyes. Dad was so over-protective sometimes. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was nice for our relationship to finally be going somewhere, but…really? Adam was everything to me. I was certain he wouldn't do anything stupid like that. "Dad, I'm _sure. _Adam is my best friend. He wouldn't do anything like that, and besides, he hardly has the funds to." That was a little attempt at a joke between us- my father naturally looked down on those who didn't have as much money as us. Then again, he was so happy to see me have a friend, that I'd effectively pinned him in a rather uncomfortable position. I smirked into the phone. Go me.

Dad gave a strange little laugh, and then exhaled noisily. "Well…if you're sure about him, Mallick, then I guess it's fine." He sounded like he was grinning through the phone.

It took me a few moments to get what he was saying. He never usually gave up this easily. "I…seriously?" My voice was kind of croaky, so thank God there were next to no-one on the street. I could have easily have used Carla's phone in Homeward Bound, but screw her. She was a bitch. I'd rather use a couple of coins to use a payphone anyway. "You're saying yes?"

Adam, who had hunkered down on the sidewalk some time ago, looked up and raised his eyebrows at me. I grinned at him, and, despite how shitty his situation was, he grinned back. "That's exactly what I'm saying," Dad said happily. "Sure, Adam can stay with us as long as he needs. I'm just glad you've found yourself a friend out of all this."

Heh, _friend. _More like best friend/boyfriend.

"So am I, Dad. So am I."

"So, just give me your address, and I'll come pick you up." It wasn't a question. My father was reverting back to his no-nonsense, businesslike self. We finally agreed on a time, and that was that. Feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders, I ran to meet Adam. Not really caring who saw us (although the street was deserted), I threw my arms around him and squeezed.

Laughing, he eased me off of him, and I sat down beside him on the sidewalk. My bags were piled up behind him, and he'd been keeping an eye on them for me. Adam didn't have any, seeing as he didn't live 'on campus' as I did. "I'm guessing the shit didn't hit the fan, then?" he asked dryly. I beamed at him.

"Better than that. I've got you a place to stay."

His eyes widened. "Wow, seriously?! That's…thanks, Mallick." He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Not a problem," I said happily. Any problems money-related, I could pretty much fix. Though Dad had retracted my bank account when I'd been handed in to rehab (or, rather, when he MADE me turn myself in), I was pretty damn sure that he'd be all too willing to set that back up now. This was one of the few times in my life that I actually didn't mind spending a shitload of money for one thing. If it was to help Adam…then I seriously didn't mind. I was seriously considering buying him a laptop as well, so he could edit his photos and whatnot, and keep in touch with Mark (although I wasn't too pleased about that last one- Adam's devotion to Mark was kind of creepy).

"So where am I staying?" he asked, eyes glittering mischievously. "A five-star hotel? One with a pool, and water beds?"

I rolled my eyes. Adam didn't know much about how the rich really lived. There were the lunatics, the ones who really DID spend shitloads of money on things like water beds, but really…most were stingy, paranoid assholes. Still, I couldn't exactly blame him or anything. We'd grown up in very different environments, and I couldn't get angry at Adam for that. "Almost," I chuckled. "You're staying at my house."

Adam jumped to his feet. "Are you serious?!" he shouted excitedly, and then unexpectedly gave me a fierce hug. "Thank you so much, Mallick!" I watched him jump about excitedly for a few more moments, until he came to an ungraceful stop. I noticed (hopefully subtly), that his pants had ridden down a little. Instantaneously, I felt my cheeks grow warm. I wasn't totally used to this- having a boyfriend, I mean. It was wildly different to having a girlfriend- back in the days when I hadn't been scared of my own shadow- and I knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but still…really?

"Do you live on your own, Mallick?" he asked me curiously, apparently not noticing how low his jeans were. But that was right- he always wore them low. Trust Adam.

"No, I live with my father- but he's hardly around. Zachary Scott has much more pressing matters to attend to, usually." I didn't realise I was scowling until I saw my reflection in a passing car's mirror. Er, whoops. I made sure to curve my lips into what was hopefully a grin.

Adam was totally oblivious to this, though. "Ah, who cares?" he said happily. "I can deal with 'rents. I just- oh thank you so much, Mallick!"

And he threw his arms around me again. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I saw his pants ride just that little bit lower, and I flushed crimson.

This was going to take some getting used to.

**XxX**

Dad arrived not five minutes after that, gliding up in- ugh- his Rolls Royce. I winced. Did he really feel the need to flaunt how he was rolling in money all the time? Didn't he care how snobby and up-himself he made himself- and well, yeah, _me, _look?

And to think that it was because of all this money that…that everything shitty had happened to me…

Swallowing back my anger with some difficulty, I chanced a glance at Adam, expecting him to be annoyed, or maybe even mocking. But I needn't have worried. As soon as he saw the car, his jaw dropped. I don't think he'd seriously seen a Rolls Royce before now, and, well, he looked kind of starstruck.

Ugh. This was embarrassing. As I stood there, watching my father watch Adam's floored face, that small, nagging feeling of paranoia hit me again. I hadn't felt it since I'd been admitted to rehab, and especially after meeting Adam. But it hit me now, like a ton of bricks, hard and fast and without mercy. This street…looked exactly the same as the one where _that _happened. My God, they were pretty much identical!

No. This wasn't right. I swallowed once, twice, trying to hold back my paranoia, and I wondered _why _it had to start now, of all places. I mean, seriously? _Why_ did it have to be such a bitch?

Dad's voice jerked me out of my train of thought, for which I was actually grateful for. "So, Mallick, are you going to come and give your old man a hug? Or are you just going to stand there?"

He was smirking at me. I felt my cheeks go red. "Sorry," I muttered, and stepped forward and gave him a hug. It was awkward because he wouldn't get out of the car, and I refused to get in and give him a 'proper' hug. I mean, I felt so confused!

After a few awkward moments of embrace, I let Adam take the spotlight, muttering a quick introduction. Dad looked him up and down appraisingly, and I cringed. I knew what he was doing. He was deciding whether he was good enough for me. Ugh. Would this torture never end?!

He seemed to pass the test, though. Dad smiled and popped the back door open for us. "Jump in," he invited. After a few moments of shoving bags behind seats, we got in. I probably should have gotten in the front with Dad, but I didn't want to leave Adam's side. Especially not when I felt as paranoid as this. Dad whistled cheerfully, gliding his huge car up the street with ease. "So, Adam, Mallick tells me you enjoy photography," he said suddenly. I nearly died of embarrassment. I just wanted the seat to swallow me up and never be seen again. What was he _thinking? _

Adam looked sideways at me, and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, sir," he said formally. "It's my job." Of course, he had to be respectful, considering that he was driving us both back home, but Adam wasn't stupid. He knew how I felt about my father. After all, it was him who decided to call him 'Boss Man' snarkily behind his back much to my amusement.

"I see," my father said carefully. "And do you enjoy your job?"

Adam nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir. I enjoy it very much." He didn't add that it was during his job that he'd been done for doing drugs. He also didn't add that one of his best customers was now one of his sworn enemies.

"That's good, then." And he lapsed into silence.

The drive was horribly quiet. I knew I should probably say something, since this was meant to be a tearful reunion and all, but…well, yeah, I couldn't actually think of anything to say, and Adam was still a little too starstruck for my liking. He was staring around himself in awe, admiring the leather seats, the mini-bar in the back (although I noticed that there was no actual alcohol present- the closest thing there was Coke), and, yeah, the TV set in the back of the driver's seat. I flushed again. I wasn't sure whether to be proud of my newly reinstated financial status, or to be ashamed of it, or whether to just be pissed. Seeing as, you know, it was BECAUSE of this money that I went to rehab in the first place…

It was then that I remembered something horribly important. I had my luggage, but where was Adam's? Still at his 'house', probably.

Now we were faced with a problem. Would he still be allowed to collect his stuff, or…?

"Dad." I made sure to keep my voice as low as possible. I didn't want any of my anger to show, despite my sudden fury with Ivan, Ada's shitty landlord. He didn't turn around, but I saw him raise an eyebrow questioningly. "We need to go get Adam's stuff."

Now it was Adam's turn to flush. I hadn't meant to embarrass him, really. But it had to be said. I mean, we weren't even the same size, and I was sure that Adam had a few possessions that he didn't want left behind, right?

My father looked kind of surprised. I never usually asked him for anything, and I seriously couldn't remember the last time I'd asked him to do something for someone else. But he handled it well. He forced a smile, and simply said: "Why, of course, Mallick. Anything for your new friend here."

My jaw hit the ground. Um, _what? _

**APOV**

I'd never really paid much attention to English class, but when I stepped out of Mr Scott's car and into the pathetic shack that I'd lived in since I was nineteen, it was…well, they were two extreme opposites, all right. In less than two minutes, I'd gone from pristine and perfect to shabby, run-down, and, well, _shit_. Not to mention that I'd felt extremely out of place in Mr Scott's company. I mean, after everything Mallick had said about him…he was nice to me and all, (well, at least to my FACE, he was), but I still couldn't help but feel that he was playing me for a fool. There was a _reason _why Mallick didn't like him; hell, when we first met, he _hated _the guy.

The place really hadn't changed at all since I'd last been here. There were still beer stains on the carpet, doors were still hanging off hinges, Ivan was still holed up at his 'desk' with a greasy cheeseburger, three Cokes, and his poodle, Precious, and yep, there was the classic drunk guy holed up in the doorway. Ivan was fast asleep, thank God for small miracles, but the drunk guy wasn't. As soon as I tried to get past, he latched onto my ankle.

"Hey!" I yelped, and tugged it out of his grasp. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hissed. I was keeping an eye on Ivan- I didn't want him to wake up until long after I was gone.

"What do yer think yer doin'?" the man shouted. Precious twitched in Ivan's lap. "Can't yer see I'm sleepin' here?!"

"Yeah?" I snarled. I leant down to meet his eyes, and wrinkled my nose at the foul stench. "Maybe if you weren't so stupid as to lie there and get pissed all the time, you might actually have a life. But obviously, that's not going to happen to you anytime soon." And to think that I had probably been the same way not two months ago. That thought revolted me, and I stalked out of the drunk guy's grasp and continued on.

It was time to pack.

**XxX**

All my shit gathered together (I really didn't have that much, once you shoved it all into bags and whatnot), I struggled downstairs. I was pretty damn sure I had everything. My secret stash of money was balled into my pocket. My camera dangled around my neck. I had a battered suitcase and a shabby backpack, and yeah, that was basically it. It was a shame I had to leave, really, because, although this place had been filled with more bad memories than good ones, it had still been my home for the better part of nine years.

I sighed. I couldn't wait to start a new life with Mallick by my side, but it felt weird. _Really _weird.

I was almost out of the place when an all-too-familiar voice called me back.

"Mr Faulkner, are you leaving already?"

I shuddered. His voice was as greasy as the cheeseburgers he ate. Sighing heavily, I dropped both my suitcase and my backpack, and turned to face the monstrosity that was Ivan. "What do you want?" I demanded. I crossed my arms and glared at the fat man. "You've already kicked me out of my home, so _now _what do you want?!"

Ivan grinned. "Oh, Mr Faulkner," he cooed, and I grimaced, "Don't make the mistake of thinking that I _want _to talk to you. I don't. In my opinion, you're a little arrogant shit, and I'm glad to be rid of you, finally. But I've been told to give you this." And he held out a small, yellowing envelope.

I stared at it. "If it's another bill, you know where you can shove it," I said flatly.I picked up my bags and turned to leave.

"Adam, wait!" Ivan shoved it roughly down my shirt collar. It was like attempted rape.

"_DON'T TOUCH ME!" _I shouted, and sank a fist into his stomach. It didn't do anything (apart from sink deep into his fat rolls), but he let out a high-pitched scream of his own. My anger was a dark, coiling, sparking mass- and I hadn't felt this pissed in a _long _time. I gave Ivan my angriest glare, panting slightly, and I said coldly, "Don't you ever touch me again. I mean it, Ivan."

He just stared at me, his eyes wide.

Swearing to myself, I stomped out of my apartment for the last time.

**XxX**

Wow.

Mallick's place was _huge._

Not just huge, either, but so _open. _It was light and airy, and I couldn't help but be reminded a little of Homeward Bound. Everything was over the top. There was Mr Scott's room, Mallick' room, and at _least _five guest rooms. There was a kitchen, three lounge rooms, a bar, and two car garages, with six cars in total. I thought I'd been impressed by the Rolls-Royce, but…this was almost like stepping into another world.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it wasn't like my parents had been poor or anything- we had been pretty well-off, actually, but next to Mallick's place, we could have been living on the street. There was a plasma-screen TV in each room, and they were huge…they must have a pretty powerful security system, then. Or maybe they hired their own security guards. I seriously wouldn't have put it past them.

I was in awe.

Mallick, however, didn't seem to feel the same way. While I was happy enough just wandering around the house (Mallick's dad had disappeared some time before- work, probably), Mallick seemed to getting more and more irritated.

"Let's go to my room," he suggested, and, shyly, he took my hand. I was again startled by the happy feelings springing up in me at his touch, and I wondered perversely whether he was shy in all aspects of romance…

Mallick's room was surprisingly ordinary compared to the rest of the house. If anyone else had been in here, they would have thought it boring, but in all honesty, I thought it summed up Mallick perfectly. Despite all the money, he was pretty much a normal guy.

We sat on his bed, a glorious four-poster with blue sheets, and for a few moments, neither of us said anything. "Your house is…amazing," I said honestly.

Mallick gave me a wry grin. "It's not, really, but thanks anyway." His eyes were really like two dark pools- they had a hypnotising feel to them. I blushed, and then twitched. Damn it! I'd forgotten the shitty bit of paper that Ivan had shoved down my shirt. Mallick frowned. "Is everything okay, Adam?"

"Fine," I grunted in between wriggles. I couldn't reach the damn thing! "Ivan shoved something down my shirt," I grumbled. "I'd forgotten about it until now."

Mallick went crimson. "Want me to get it for you?" he asked, not quite meeting my eyes. I nodded and turned around so he could get it. His hands were gentle, and wherever they touched my skin, there was a spark of pleasure. I exhaled slightly.

Wait.

What was I _thinking? _He wasn't doing anything like that! He was just grabbing that stupid envelope, right?

Finally, the paper was gone. I sighed in relief. "Thanks, Mallick," I said gratefully. Seriously, Mallick was my saviour- in more ways than one today.

"That's okay," he said quietly, and it was a few seconds before I realised that he was reading it. I leaned forward.

"Who's it from?"

Mallick raised his eyes to mine, troubled. "Lawrence Gordon."

Holy _shit. _

**A/N: Not much going on, I know. But it's all necessary stuff, I promise! The next few chapters are going to be sweet, sensuous, and action-packed to the brim, and that's a promise! Thanks for reading, guys. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20.**

**Curious, Confronting Conversations.**

**XxX**

**APOV**

I felt the blood drain out of my face, as the full force of Mallick's words sunk in.

Lawrence Gordon? Again? _Really? _Damn, I thought giddily, he really had crap timing! Trust him to ruin a guy's day with his creepy letter-writing-shit. It wasn't fair. Really, it wasn't. Lawrence (even though Mallick was here, it was painful to bring up his name- even _thinking _it attacked a wound that was still raw, a wound that hadn't quite healed over just yet), had made it pretty damn clear that he never wanted to speak to me again, so what the hell was up with this creepy letter shit?

Mallick's eyes were wide with sympathy, and quickly, he took my hand. I didn't realise that my whole body was shaking until his touch calmed me. I guessed I was too busy grappling with my past relationship with Lawrence to really notice.

"Adam-"

"What does it say?" I croaked. Mallick's face was engraved with concern.

"Adam, I really don't think I should-"

I deliberately stared deep into Mallick's eyes. How did I not notice how deep and blue they were? Unlike his father's, whose eyes reminded me of chips of ice, Mallick's were more like the ocean- awesome, in other words. But, awesome eyes or not, I couldn't dwell on that fact right now. "Please, Mallick. Tell me what it says."

Mallick exhaled noisily. I could tell right away that he didn't like to do this. "I'll read it out for you, okay? But I still don't like this…"

"Please just read it," I snapped. He sighed, defeated for the moment.

"'_Adam- out of rehab, I see. Finally, you're going to do something worthwhile with your life. I'll be watching, to ensure that you make the right choices. L.G.'_"

It took me a few moments for Mallick's- well, _Lawrence's- _words to sink in.

"_Jesus!" _I exploded. "Doesn't he know that I've had _enough _of this shit?!"

The pressure on my hand increased. I looked down, to see Mallick's fingers squeezing mine all the more tightly. His awesome blue eyes were riddled with sympathy, and anger- but I knew that his anger wasn't directed at me. He brought his other hand to mine, and began rubbing the top of my hand gently with his available thumb.

It was kind of…relaxing.

"I know," Mallick said softly, "I know."

Suddenly, it was impossible to be angry at him. "Thank you," I whispered honestly, and put my free hand over both of his. "Thanks, Mallick."

"What for?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"For putting up with my shit. I mean, you don't have to, and yet you do…"

A strange little smile tugged at his mouth, and it wasn't happy at all. In fact, it was kind of bitter. Full of self-loathing, even.

"Believe it or not, Adam, I've had to deal with a lot of fucked-up shit in my time. Hell, you can throw me everything you've got, and I could handle it."

Though his words were undoubtedly (a word I had learnt from him as well) meant to be comforting, they had the opposite effect: they chilled me to my very core.

Well. Mallick knew just about all of my gory details, and hadn't been scared off, so…what had happened to him that was so bad?

I wanted to know, so I could get rid of this shitty fake smile and bring back the one that made him so damn hot to begin with.

Hell, I hated bitter, paranoid Mallick. I wanted the man who I was dating back, not this other guy.

"Do you remember the deal I made you ages ago?" I asked, still keeping my hand on top of our other hands. I wouldn't let him escape. Mallick, I loved the guy to bits, but whenever he thought about his past and what had happened to him, he effectively became a shut-in. I didn't like or want that, so I figured, the sooner we talked about this, the better.

Shit. What was I thinking? It seemed like I _had _gleamed something from Bobby Dagen, after all. Damn that stupid therapist.

Mallick raised an eyebrow. "Deal?" he asked quietly.

"That's right." I leaned in close, closing the gap between us. He squirmed, looking slightly uncomfortable. "'I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours?'"

**MPOV**

Shit.

I'd forgotten about that.

I mean, it was like it'd happened years ago, not…well, in reality, it wasn't even a month or so ago. Now, normally, I _never _kept promises (given that I'd even made some back in the days when I was a drug addict and was- who am I kidding?- _am_ still afraid of my own shadow, but this was Adam. He…was my boyfriend, and _really _special to me. I didn't want to lose him.

But this…speaking about this was something different entirely. Although rehab, and meeting Adam, had certainly helped, I still was nowhere near ready enough to delve into the horrors of my past. At least, I didn't _think _so.

I stared into my lap. "I already told you," I mumbled. Well, I kind of had. More like _outlining _what had happened, but still…

"Mallick, I was strung up like a ham in some godforsaken bathroom. I was electrocuted. I was shot in the shoulder. I had to lie there for three damn days, wondering if I'd ever make it out, and hoping against hope that I wasn't going to die. Please tell me, Mallick. I need to know. And I'm pretty damn sure you need to get this off your chest, whatever it is."

"Do I have to?" I asked miserably. Why couldn't the two of us share a happy life without all this bullshit? Like, I was growing tiresome of all of this.

Yet…I couldn't shake the feeling that Adam was right. I really _did _need to talk about this. I mean, I'd already spoken about it to Joyce Dagen, strictly because she was my counsellor, and she had said that the more often I talked about it, the easier it would be. When I'd told her about it, I'd ended up in tears.

I didn't want to cry in front of Adam. I really didn't. But the weight of what had happened was pressing down on my shoulders, and it felt like actual physical weight, and to be honest, if what Joyce said was true, then I couldn't wait to get rid of it.

Adam glared at me sternly with those big brown eyes of his. "Do I look like someone to be messed with? _Yes." _

I sighed, and fidgeted uncomfortably. "I just don't want you to leave once you hear this,"" I whispered sullenly, still casting my eyes downwards. How did today suddenly turn so shitty?

Adam leaned forward, and gently pressed his lips against my forehead. I shivered involuntarily. "I'm not going to leave you, Mallick," he whispered. "I'm not a total douche."

"You're not a douche at all," I countered shakily. He grinned at me.

"Nice to know someone thinks so. Come on, Mallick, spill." It wasn't a request. It was- an order. My expression may have been miserable, but I was kind of glowing inside. Adam was so bossy!

I took a deep breath. "Okay, but you're not going to like it," I warned. He shrugged and kept his eyes trained on me. I opened my mouth, tried to speak, but I couldn't find the right words. It was as if a huge lump had formed in my throat, and suddenly I couldn't swallow- or breathe.

All I could think of was the pain, terror, and embarrassment, as the people held me down in an alleyway, stuffing my mouth with a dirty rag so I couldn't scream, and then…

…They started unbuttoning my shirt.

"No," I moaned, and tried to pull my hands out from Adam, but he wasn't having any of that. His grip grew tighter. It wasn't painful, yet it was firm enough to jolt me out of the haze, the haze that burned…

"Mallick. Stay with me here."

"I'm trying," I stuttered, and shivered. I didn't want to tell Adam this- it was too freaking horrible. But a deal was a deal, and I could hardly lie to Adam, could I? If he wasn't my boyfriend, then maybe, but…

Screw it. We'd been through too much together, and after all, Adam HAD been shot in the shoulder.

Plus, I was positive he wouldn't tell anyone.

The next time I opened my mouth, it all came out, in one big, hurried gush:

"You know how my father's a lawyer, right? Well, a few years ago, he convicted three individuals of drug trafficking, assault, and generally being a public nuisance. They were fairly well-off people, and they put up quite a fight. It was a huge accomplishment that Dad could get them locked away, because there was hardly any evidence, and Dad likes to go with his head, you know? He gets 'feelings' about certain people. Anyway, they were pissed off about that. Really pissed off. And you know how they thought they'd get back at Zachary Scott? They went after me."

Adam's eyes went wide, and he looked like he was going to say something, but there was no stopping the flow once it'd started. I rushed on, my words jumbling together, eager to get rid of this weight once and for all:

"They jumped me in an alleyway. They hit me, called me names. Two of them held me down, while the other…well, he…prepared me. Undressed me, I mean. My shirt and my pants. And then he…he tried to rape me."

I burst into tears. Adam put his arm around me, warm and comforting and everything I needed right about now. He didn't say anything, but I could tell that he was mad. Not at me- at the men who had done this to me, most likely. But still, getting this all off my chest felt good and was opening a wound at the same time. The places where they'd grabbed me stung and burned, as if they were still touching me. And yet, Adam was here.

"That's fucking horrible," he said hollowly. He was very pale. I was sure that I looked a hundred times worse.

I nodded weakly, and, despite the lump in my throat returning, I continued:

"One of them laughed at my would-be rapist, and called him a queer. That pissed him off, and he punched him in the face. Then the other one suggested they mark me for life, as a warning to my asshole father, and…they brought out the matches." I shuddered. I was reliving every moment as I spoke, and I could recall all too well the smell of the gasoline. "They soaked my arm in gasoline. They meant to do most of my body. But they were clumsy. Most of it went on the ground, but when they lit the match…my arm caught the full force of gasoline-fuelled fire. Someone heard me screaming through the rag, and them laughing, and the police were called. They ran away before I could actually see them, and y that time, I was too preoccupied with making sure I didn't lose my arm."

My skin had bubbled, and my stomach churned uneasily as I remembered what that had smelled like- burning bacon. Since that night, I'd never eaten bacon again.

I'd staggered away from the fireball in the alleyway, still screaming through my rag, jeans hanging at my knees, shirt unbuttoned all the way- and eventually I found a puddle of water. Since the storm had been the night before, it was fairly large, and I stupidly shoved my arm into it. It kind of helped, but it also forced me to look at what had become of what had once been a fully functional, perfectly ordinary arm.

It was blackened and dead-looking.

I remembered not being to stop screaming.

I shuddered. It had been terrible. I had been in no Jigsaw trap, but still…

Adam shivered along with me. "I don't believe it," he said suddenly.

"I…what?" I choked. Did he think I was making this up?

Adam stared at me, his big brown eyes furious. "I can't believe someone would do that to you! They're fucking assholes!" His voice got louder and louder by the second. I winced. Hopefully Dad wouldn't come home to hear this. "You didn't do anything to them!"

And I saw Adam for who he really was.

He wanted to protect me.

And that was probably the best thing I had ever seen. Seeing him jacked up like that, fierce and protective…well, I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel kind of special. No-one, not even the man who was supposed to be my father, had reacted as violently as Adam had just done.

As I stared at him in a kind of wonder, he leapt to his feet. "I wish I knew who they were," he rumbled. "I'd bash the shit out of them!"

I grabbed hold of his sleeve, and gently pulled him back down to earth. "I never saw their faces," I said quietly. "Otherwise they'd be in jail by now. Dad'd make sure of it."

Adam glared at me. "He shouldn't have let things get to that point in the first place, Mallick. I mean, I still can't believe what they _did _to you…"

Now that it was off my chest, I felt like a huge weight had been taken off of me. It…felt great. I mean, there was no escaping the fact that my arm had been burnt to a crisp, and I'd taken drugs because of that traumatic experience, but telling someone who actually cared…felt great.

Yeah.

I could get used to telling Adam this kind of stuff.

"So you're not mad at me?" I asked softly, doing my best to avoid his eyes.

Adam smiled at me. "Why the hell would I be mad at you? This isn't your fault."

And then he pulled me into his arms, and all worries about Lawrence, and the three faceless figures all went away for a while.

**XxX**

This was the first dinner I'd had with my father for a long time. Our table had the capacity to seat fourteen, but with the three of us sitting there, it kind of looked empty.

Not that that mattered. I had Adam beside me, and my father across from us, filling the room with his booming voice. "So when do you think you'll start university again, Mallick?" he asked me. I glanced over at Adam for help, but he was busy stuffing his face- typical Adam.

I smirked. "Not too sure, Dad. I kind of thought I'd hang at home for a while."

"No time like the present," he boomed, and took another swig of wine. I frowned. Dad only ever touched alcohol when he was really happy…or upset. Did something happen? "You should start as soon as you can."

"I don't even know what I'd study," I protested. Adam continued to inhale pork dumplings like he'd never had them before. Then again, maybe he never had. I doubted he'd had much choice of food aside from two-minute noodles back in that dump he'd lived in, with that Ivan asshole as his landlord.

"You always did well at school," Dad persisted. "I'm sure you could study maths, or something."

I scowled. "I _hate _maths."

Adam looked sideways at me. "Are you sulking, Mallick?" he asked me teasingly.

I widened my eyes in mock alarm. "_Me?_ Never." Ironic, considering what we'd been taking about not two hours ago, but Dad wasn't to know that.

If I had my way, Dad wasn't going to know anything that was happening between me and Adam, because if he did, I had a feeling he wouldn't be happy.

**XxX**

Later that night, when Adam was snoring next door, I was doing my best to fall asleep, but it wasn't working- I was too full of energy. I hadn't the faintest idea why; I'd been sleeping like a baby, up until an hour ago.

It….something just felt _wrong _about tonight. Like…someone was watching me.

Or my house.

I eased out of bed, and padded over to the window for want of a better look. I discovered a nice surprise when I peeled back the curtains- Dad had installed a balcony for me! Nice.

Feeling like a ninja, I crept out onto the balcony, and peered into the street below. Dad had deliberately picked a street where majority of the residents were modest, semi-rich elderly people. I think our neighbours were in their seventies, or very close to it.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement down below. I leaned over the edge of the balcony as far as I dared. My eyes widened.

There was a person. Dressed entirely in black. I would have thought it was Jigsaw himself, except Jigsaw wasn't a woman. He also didn't wear a balaclava.

I was also pretty damn sure that Jigsaw didn't carry envelopes in one hand.

As I watched, the woman bent, and left the envelope on our front doorstep. Then she turned, and fled into the night.

I was left hanging. Literally.

_Who the hell WAS that?! _


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21.**

**All Is Revealed In Tidbits.**

**XxX**

**MPOV**

I had no hope of getting to sleep after that. I was wide awake; the shock of what I had seen completely obliterated any semblance of tiredness there might have been. Shit. Holy _shit. _There was someone stalking our house! There was someone watching us- who might even be watching us at that very moment!

Wired, and getting angrier by the minute, I threw my bedroom door open and stormed downstairs; I didn't care that Dad and Adam were asleep right now. In fact, I kind of wished that they'd wake up- just so whoever this asshole was could take the brunt of three grown men screaming at him. I mean, I knew Dad was a hotshot lawyer and all, but even he had never had someone openly stalk him before, and he'd taken classes in karate...I _think._ Sure, he'd had death threats and all, but never someone actually go and leave a letter behind. That was…a little weird.

In fact, it was _too _weird. If it was one of Dad's many enemies, it didn't make sense that they'd go and leave a letter behind. I mean, why would they bother? No; the whole situation was too fishy to sit well with me.

It suddenly occurred to me that this person, whoever the hell she might be, might not have anything to do with my father- in fact, the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that she'd have something to do with me- or Adam.

_Holy shit…Adam._

I could just imagine his reaction if he found out. He'd want to put them in hospital, whoever they were, because Adam didn't take any shit. He'd beat the shit out of them, or die trying- because that was just the sort of person Adam was. He took no crap, and was more than happy to let people know that, verbally or otherwise. I knew that he should be the first person I told about this, but some small part of me wanted to see what exactly it was that mysterious woman had left behind first.

I mean, surely it had to be something important? Otherwise, why the hell would she go to all the trouble of delivering it- at this hour?

I bit the inside of my cheek in frustration, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to put things in perspective. It was around one in the morning, I'd just witnessed someone leaving something at our doorstep, and it looked _exactly the same _as those shitty envelopes that Adam had kept receiving, first through Carla, and then through Ivan.

It was then that I realised that if it was something dangerous, I should be the one to investigate- Adam had protected me from myself, the horrors of my past- now it was my turn to protect him.

I _had _to find out what it was.

Easing off on my stomping, I hastily disabled the alarm; it was top of the range stuff, and Dad had it checked every six months, but there was one small problem- if you went outside 'after hours', the alarm would go off if you wanted to come back inside. That had led to some very awkward moments between my father and I. Feeling more like a ninja than ever, I darted outside, and swiped at the envelope, before dashing back inside.

I stared at it, turning it over and over in my hands, trying to understand what was so familiar about this bit of shit. Then it hit me. Of course! This was exactly like the envelopes Adam had been receiving from his ex-boyfriend, Lawrence Gordon. Hell, even the colour of said envelope was exactly the same- yellowing slightly, the corners looking thoroughly dog-eared.

I instantly felt like I'd stepped into a cold shower. Lawrence Gordon. Adam's ex. This…could get very ugly, very quickly. I didn't want to read it; in fact, I wanted to put it through my Dad's paper shredder and then burn the scraps, but…if this was going to hurt Adam in any way, then surely I had a right to read it, and get rid of it if necessary? And I had a feeling in my gut that it was going to be necessary.

I mean, envelopes don't just get let on people's doorsteps willy-nilly. I mean, this…wasn't normal.

As I stared at the paper, it occurred to me that I did _not _want Lawrence messing around with Adam anymore. I mean, the two of us had been through ENOUGH shit to last a lifetime- and, after our conversation where I'd finally started to shed my inner demons, we'd both thought that maybe, just maybe, we could start being happy- really, truly happy.

But no.

That wasn't going to happen- not while Lawrence Gordon was still part of the picture. The longer I held that shitty bit of paper in my hands, the more my focus wavered, the more that dark, writhing mess of anger sparked inside me. In fact, it got so bad that I couldn't even hold the paper properly- my hands were trembling that badly.

Gritting my teeth, I slit the envelope open.

And I swore loudly when I saw what was in there.

**APOV**

It's funny, but when I woke up the next morning, I felt great. Like a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

A little unsure of where I was, having not exactly been used to luxury like this, I let my mind wander a little before I even considered getting out of bed. Why did I feel so great? Ah, that was right- Mallick had finally opened up to me. You know, people talk about people 'seeing into their soul' and all that crap, and I guess it sounds a lot better when it's not actually true, but in all honesty, I really couldn't think of a better way to phrase it. Mallick had let me into his soul- granted, yes, for a very short time- but he'd put trust in me. And that was something that no-one had done for a very long time.

After Seth's betrayal…well, it felt kind of nice to have someone like me for _me, _and apparently trusted me enough to tell me all of the freaky shit that had happened to them in the past few years.

It felt weird as all hell, but I'd be lying to myself if I said that it didn't feel nice, and that now we were finally on equal terms with each other, things were great.

Actually, now that I took the time to think about it, my experience with Jigsaw seemed almost pathetic in comparison to almost getting raped, having his arm burnt to a crisp…

I felt a stirring of anger inside me at that thought, and immediately quenched it. No. I wouldn't get angry today- the weather, for one, was too damn good to be storming around with the shits.

Feeling a grin slide over my face, I kicked back the covers (probably something I shouldn't have done, since the bed itself looked pretty expensive, but I figured that worse things had been done to it), and got dressed hurriedly. As I stood there in my trademark jeans and t-shirt, I suddenly realised that I looked very much out of place here. I mean, this place was good enough to be a hotel- or even better- and, compared to Zachary Scott and his adorable, trusting son, I looked like…well, something the cat dragged in.

Heh. Whatever. Mallick liked me for me, right? So I didn't exactly have to conform to a dress code or some shit…

Since Mallick's room was basically next door, it was there that I stopped first. I was starving, but I didn't want to make a bad impression on Mallick's father by turning up unexpectedly and stuffing my face. Stifling a yawn, I rapped smartly on his door. "Mallick? You awake yet, buddy?" I asked softly, briefly imagining him curled up into a ball, fast asleep. It was oddly cute.

"No," came the reply. I laughed.

"Sure, whatever." I tapped on his door again. "Can I come in?"

He sounded slightly panicky. "Just a second!" he called, and I could hear him moving around in his bedroom, "Just let me get dressed!"

I wouldn't have minded if he wasn't wearing clothes, but…

Finally, though, the door was opened, and he was smirking at me. I took a step back. "Wow," I said honestly, "You look tired as all hell."

"I am, man," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes- which, by the way, had dark circles underneath them. I eyed him with concern. Surely he should have had a good sleep last night, with getting all that history off of his chest? Why did he look like he hadn't slept at all?

"Why-" I began, but he enveloped me in a kiss that I couldn't refuse. His mouth was warm and soft, and I nibbled it gently- something that I hadn't tried with him yet. He gasped slightly at the new sensation, and I took the opportunity to take the offensive, kissing him fiercely. I took his top lip, and sucked it furiously.

Well. He apparently was having none of that. His hands fisted in my hair, pulling me closer. Stopping to take a breath didn't seem like an option at that point- we were each other's oxygen, and like before, it was like we were both drowning, and only the other could save us.

Smiling a little into the kiss, I let my hands wander over this beautiful man who'd revealed his deepest, darkest secret to me the other night. My hands started at the small of his back, and ever so slowly edged downwards. He whimpered slightly as my hands slid over his buttocks, caressing them gently. Damn. He had such a nice ass.

It didn't occur to me that Mallick's dad might still be somewhere in the house- all I knew at that point was that I was making out with my boyfriend, and I was currently feeling his ass. His sexy little ass.

I cupped his buttocks gently, and squeezed softly. He gasped a little. I deepened the kiss, kissing him hungrily, because let's face it, he was amazing, and I kind of wanted him.

Like, _now._

It was then that he did something that I never thought he'd do.

He touched me…_there. _

Well, talk about turning the tables! It was my turn to gasp, and Mallick didn't exactly waste any time. His grip on me tightened slightly, and a noise came out of me that I never thought would come out of _me- _a fully grown, adult man. I…shit…I _whimpered. _

Ugh. I was hungrier than ever now- but not for food. I felt tension in my pants, and I groaned again. Mallick pulled back slightly and grinned, his eyes glittering malevolently. "Do you like this?" he whispered, and squeezed gently. My hands on his buttocks tightened, as I gritted my teeth against the almost painful tension. Seriously, _ugh. _This was driving me insane.

"You know I do," I growled. "Stop playing with me, Mallick."

He opened his mouth to give a sexy, breathy reply when his father's voice drifted up the stairs. "Adam! Mallick! Are you coming down for breakfast soon?"

I looked at him, and he let go of me reluctantly, exhaling noisily.

Yeah. We had shit timing.

**XxX**

If Zachary Scott knew what we'd been doing upstairs, he certainly didn't show it. Thankfully, by the time I sat myself down at the table, my little problem in my pants had gone down. Nevertheless, our faces were flushed with a mixture of anger and sexual frustration- we'd gone further than ever today, and, like the time we'd had our first kiss, we'd been interrupted. Yeah, by Mr. Scott himself.

Damn, I thought to myself, as I helped myself to a fried egg, he had really shit timing. It was almost like he was psychic or some shit.

I sighed. When would we get some time to ourselves?

**MPOV**

As I watched Adam eat his breakfast, helping himself to seconds of everything, I felt a stirring of guilt inside me. What had just happened had been amazing, but…this wasn't right.

I shouldn't have loosed my frustration with Lawrence and that woman onto him- it was like I'd been kissing him, touching him, for all the wrong reasons. I'd done it not just because I loved him, but because I'd needed a way to vent. I'd more or less used Adam because I'd been frustrated with someone else, and myself.

I mean, I'd know that if Adam had done it to me, I'd feel like shit. It wasn't fair that I had done it to him.

Forcing myself to swallow a mouthful of egg, I felt my mood darken considerably. Ugh. I hated this- keeping secrets from him. But then again, I couldn't bear to see him be crushed like that- Lawrence had a devastating effect on him, and I hated to see Adam like that.

It was at that moment that I decided that I would catch this snooping bitch, at any cost. This had to _stop. _

If you really looked at it, our life so far had been nothing but drama. Almost like a really bad sitcom. And I was sick of it. Every time we took one step forward, it was two steps back.

My father's voice drew me out of my disgusted reverie. "Mallick? What are you planning to do today?"

I sighed. "Not sure right now, Dad. I haven't the faintest idea."

"I can think of something," Adam grinned, brown eyes glittering mischievously. I almost had a heart attack. I mean, my father was _right there! _It was a goddamn miracle that he didn't pick up on what Adam meant- he was obviously behind the times when it came to innuendos.

"Well, why don't you research some universities?" my father offered. "Application dates are going to be closing soon, if you want to get in sometime next year."

Hmm. Well, I didn't really want to do anything like that, but I supposed that it might at least get my mind off Lawrence Gordon and his shitty accomplice.

I considered it, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. "I guess," I finally said. "What do you think, Adam?"

He looked faintly disappointed, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hide my grin. "Sure," he said. "Would there be photography classes at university?"

Dad smirked. This was one area he felt confident in. "I'm sure there'd be something along those lines, Adam. Photography is always popular."

Well. That had Adam excited. He leapt to his feet. "Let's go!" he shouted happily.

And that was that.

Sure, I'd be doing some research, but not on universities. I knew _exactly _what I'd be researching- how to protect yourself and catch someone stalking you.

**XxX**

**APOV**

Once we headed out to the library (I hadn't realised that Mallick actually had his license- after going so long without mine, I wasn't used to him sitting behind the wheel), I felt Mallick grow increasingly tense. Yeah, even sitting beside him in the passenger seat (_that _felt weird- I usually rode in the backseat), and with a fair distance between us, I could feel the tension and anxiety practically rolling off of him.

I frowned. "What's up, Mallick?"

He jumped, and the car swerved slightly. "Wrong?" he asked, his voice slightly higher than normal, "What makes you think that there's anything wrong?"

I rolled my eyes. "Mallick, you're colder than an iceberg. You're sitting poker-straight in your chair. You're grinding your teeth. Now don't you sit there and tell me there's anything wrong- I might be stupid, but I'm not _that _stupid."

Silence from my chauffeur. I waited patiently for him to speak, and finally, he did. "I'm just nervous about university," he admitted, flushing crimson. "It's been so long since I've been around snobby, pretentious people, and honestly…I don't like being around people like that. I like _normal _people, if that makes sense."

Now, I hadn't the faintest idea of what pretentious meant, but I caught his drift. "Is it really that bad?" I asked, letting concern soak through my voice. He chuckled to himself.

"Well, kind of. At least in the classes that my dad wants me to take."

I squeezed his shoulder. "You'll be fine, you know that? And this time, you won't be alone."

He gave me a sickly smile.

**XxX**

**MPOV**

When we returned home, I felt sure that I knew how to handle the situation. I excused myself and set the alarm early, as well as some motion sensors I'd stolen from Dad. How the sensors worked was that as soon as someone stepped into their range, they'd emit a high-pitched noise, which _everybody _would hear. Hidden in places that nobody except the really observant would notice, I was sure that I'd catch this asshole who was causing me and Adam so much misery.

In fact, I was so certain of this that I felt a grin slide onto my face, and for the rest of the day, no matter what happened, nothing could spoil my good mood.

Today was _the _day.

**XxX**

After another make-out session with Adam, we broke apart reluctantly, to get ready for bed. We were still operating on the Homeward Bound schedule, so we rose at eight-thirty and went to bed around nine, nine-thirty. Yeah, pretty stupid hours, but still…after a damned long time of not getting any sleep, this routine was doing both of us justice. Adam looked younger and healthier, with more colour in his cheeks, and the bags under his eyes more or less non-existent now. After what had happened last night, I couldn't exactly say that I looked the same- the bags were beginning to return, but I felt a lot better than I had in years.

What was strange was that my father seemed to be making a genuine effort to get to know Adam, and to make amends to me. He was at work during the day, but was always home by eight, and always made sure to eat with us. He asked Adam about his photography, and began to confide more in me about his cases. He was really close to busting another big one, he'd said earlier that night. If he managed it, he'd be rolling in the money, and he said that he wouldn't mind paying my way, and maybe Adam's as well. "You're education and wellbeing is the most important thing to me," he'd said furiously, after a cup or so of wine, "You're my son, Mallick, and I love you a lot. You hear me?!"

Well. Talk about a weird turn of events.

I settled into bed, still grinning. If she came tonight, we'd hear her.

And this last little problem would finally be gone.

Right?

But, time passed, and nothing happened. I struggled against the onslaught of drowsiness that usually enveloped me after ten, and it became a bloody battle just to keep my eyes open.

_Screw it. She won't come tonight. _

But that was what she'd been hoping for, apparently, because as soon as my eyelids drooped, the alarm went off. Not the motion sensors, the alarm.

I bolted upright in my bed, my eyes wheeling around wildly. Was this her? Was she really _here? _

I heard Adam fall out of bed in the room beside me, and he swore immediately afterward. Shit. Dad'd be getting up as well. I threw back my covers, dug through my closet, found my old baseball bat from my teenage days, and clutched it tightly in both hands. Then I dashed out of my room.

Adam's door opened beside me. "What's going on?" he asked tiredly. "Is there a fire?"

"No!" I shouted. "Security alarm!"

He seemed to wake up immediately, and grabbed my arm painfully. "Shit! Someone's breaking in!"

"I know," I snapped, and composed myself. "I need to check it out."

"You're not going alone," Adam growled. "Damn it, Mallick!"

So, with Adam in tow, we dashed downstairs to see who the hell it was. Inside, I was kind of hoping that it was her. In fact, I _wanted_ it to be her.

No-one messed with me and Adam and gets away with it.

**APOV**

Sure enough, there was someone there. They were halfway across Mallick's front lawn, completely oblivious to the fact that they'd set the alarm off- it looked like the alarm only sounded inside the house, and probably at the police station. The perpetrator would have no idea that people were being alerted at that moment- in this case, they'd been perfectly happy to keep going, small purse in hand.

The person was unquestionably female, and I felt my eyebrows push together. Why would she…?

Mallick didn't seem surprised, though. "I've been expecting you," he said furiously, and she jumped, obviously not expecting anyone to be there. "You think you can fuck with us?"

"I- no-" she stuttered, and turned and bolted. Mallick sprinted after her, dropping his bat in the process. Still stunned, I picked it up, and bolted after him. What if she had a knife on her or something?!

I had no need to worry, though. Mallick caught her in a spectacular tackle, bringing both of them crashing to the ground. Her purse flew out of her hand, and I dove for it, tugging it out of her reach.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I snapped.

"I-I-"

And Mallick pulled off her balaclava. His eyebrows shot up so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. "Who are you?!" he snapped.

I stared. He might not know who she was, but I did.

This was Alison Gordon.

_What. The. Fuck? _


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22.**

**Fighting the Urge to Shoot the Messenger.**

**XxX**

**MPOV**

Adam looked like he'd seen a ghost.

I wished I was being purely metaphorical there, but unfortunately, I wasn't. He was standing there, mouth hanging open, and the blood gone from his face. His eyes were wide, and it kind of looked like he was about to scream.

But if Adam looked bad, our little visitor looked a thousand times worse. I pegged her to be about forty-five, with bleached hair and eyes so bulbous that she herself loosely resembled a ghost or something. She was pinned underneath me, and made no effort to squirm free- I might have dropped out of Tai Kwon Do classes when I was sixteen, but I had her heavily restrained- there was no way she was getting back up. Her face was pale beneath the five layers of makeup, and she was breathing heavily. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Who are you?!" I demanded, raising an eyebrow at this small, snivelling woman below me. Who was she? Why was she here? More importantly, _how the hell did Adam know her? _

Adam made a noise- kind of a bizarre twist between a strangled laugh and a whimper of pain. Adam…I almost relaxed my hold on the woman in my moment of pain. His pain was my pain, and this broad, whoever the hell she was, clearly brought Adam some pain, and I didn't want that. She jerked forward. I shoved her back onto the ground. "Oh no you don't," I snarled. Adam made that funny squeaking noise again, but this time there was no letting her go. I pressed her hard into the ground. "I'm only gonna ask one more time, bitch," I hissed, deliberately making my voice as cold as ice- it was a trick I'd picked up from my father. He'd used it when he used to scold me, or when he scolding someone at court, "Now who the fuck _are you?"_

"I know who she is," Adam croaked at last. Dropping her purple sequined purse onto the ground, he approached her steadily. Though he still looked sick, there was a steeliness in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. This was what happened to people who had been hurt one too many times- they stopped hurting and became cold. Violent. I'd witnessed the hurtful, enraged Adam during our early days at rehab, but I hadn't imagined…that it'd come back. This woman, whoever she was, had clearly wronged him in the past. It was all I could muster not to slap her a few times. "It's Alison Gordon."

"Adam," Alison whispered, "Please, help me…"

Adam laughed. "And why would I do that, Alison? You've been doing Lawrence's dirty work for months now, making my life hell. Why the hell would I help _you?" _

Suddenly, everything fell into place. It felt like someone had just dropped a bag of bricks on my head. Gordon…this was Lawrence's wife. Or ex-wife, whatever. It hadn't been Lawrence after all who'd been delivering the letters. It had been his ex, who he was clearly still in contact with. For some obscure reason, Lawrence was threatening Adam through letters delivered by Alison.

Which just made me hate her all the more. "So you're the bitch who's been making Adam's life hell," I said furiously. It was now becoming insanely difficult not to punch the bitch and be done with it. Inside, I could hear my father floundering around in his panic, calling out our names. "Out here, Dad," I called.

"Yeah, we've got them, Mr. Scott," Adam roared. Who cared about waking up half the neighbourhood- we'd finally caught the person responsible for Adam's torment- and there was no way in HELL that I was going to let her go.

"Please, this is a mistake!" Alison cried. I rolled my eyes and positioned myself so that I was better suited to stop her from moving an inch. It worked. She lay silent and sobbing beneath me, and Adam worked his throat once, twice, three times. This situation was horrendous, and I didn't blame him one bit for not knowing how to react. **I **barely knew how to react to this. All that was going through my mind was _Keep her subdued, wait until help arrives. _

And help did arrive, in the form of my father. I admit, he didn't look nearly as intimidating as he did in court, because he was clad in a blue fluffy dressing gown, but standing there, his eyes apoplectic with rage, he was a force to be reckoned with. "What in the blazes is going on here?!" he spluttered, taking in Adam, who was as pale as a sheet, Alison, who was whimpering and carrying on below me, and finally me, who kinda looked like I was going to rape her or something. My face went red. I had no intention of doing anything like that, but being caught in such an unflattering position was embarrassing. Dad's eyes narrowed. I hastily dug my elbow deeper into her throat, effectively rendering her speechless.

"We caught the intruder, Dad," I said clearly, filling my voice with as much venom as I possibly could. This bitch deserved everything she got. I half-hoped that she'd even go to jail. Sure, she hadn't done anything huge in the eyes of the law- aside from breaking into our house- but she'd caused so much emotional pain to Adam that I just _couldn't _let that slide. Come to think of it, maybe Lawrence deserved whatever his ex got as well. I mean, I couldn't just let these people hurt Adam and get away with it!

Huh. I was beginning to sound more like my father every day. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Let her go, Mallick," Dad said quietly. I gaped at him, uncomprehending. I was pretty sure that Adam was doing the same.

"_What?" _

"Let her go so I can interrogate her myself," he growled, and for a second, he was the scariest guy I'd ever seen, attackers or no attackers. His blue eyes _burned. _There was really no other word for it. I was endlessly grateful that I'd never been on the receiving end of one of those glares. _"Mallick." _

"Oh, right." I climbed off of her, to both of our reliefs. She smelt like perfume- the cheap, nasty kind. I moved away, but made sure I was well within striking distance should she do something stupid- like pull out a gun or something. Adam circled around behind her, his brown eyes hard. His jaw was clenched, and I knew he was barely resisting the urge to cuss her out or beat the shit out of her- I knew him too well to misunderstand _that _expression. But, like me, he withheld from doing anything like that. He wanted to know what would happen to her.

Alison sat up. Her hair was caked with dirt, and I could see a bruise forming where I'd shoved my elbow into her throat. Uh, whoops. Her eyes were terrified, and her voice was equally as scared. "Please don't hurt me," she whispered. Dad said nothing, only stared at her ferociously. I didn't blame her for a second when she recoiled. "What…what are you going to do with me?"

Dad ignored her question. "Who are you, and what were you doing in our house?" he asked clearly, calmly- if his hands weren't shaking, I would have said that he was eerily calm about the whole thing, but he was just as pissed as the rest of us, perhaps more so. Which was funny in a way, because he hadn't the faintest idea of who she was, or the damage she had done to Adam, but he was still angry on our behalf. Or, you know, he just didn't like random women stalking and breaking into his house, which I couldn't fault him for anyway.

She looked at my father, then at me, and then at Adam, and gulped. She seemed to decide that talking was a better plan than fleeing, because she said, "My name is- _was- _Alison Gordon. It's Alison Chadwick now."

"Chadwick?" Adam murmured, looking mystified.

"My maiden name," Alison said. "I'm no longer married, as you full well know." Dad had to be a simpleton or just too damn focused on apprehending Alison to NOT get the implications in those words. Adam went purple, bypassing red entirely. Me, I felt the blood drain out of my face. She knew. God knew how, but this bitch _knew _that Adam and I were dating.

My anger at her intrusiveness into our lives grew. She had no right. She had no _goddamn right. _

"You still haven't answered my other question," Dad snarled suddenly, "What were you doing on our property?"

"Delivering a message," Alison said promptly, and, after receiving two glares from Adam and I, shut up. I knew the story. I knew that Adam was gay, and had dated Lawrence briefly after their encounter with the Jigsaw killer, and that their dating had caused Alison and Lawrence to divorce, but Dad didn't know that. He hadn't the faintest inkling that Adam was gay, or that _I _was gay. Or, you know, that we were going out. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let some bitch break that news to my father, and sure as hell not NOW.

With everything that had happened tonight, I was willing to bet that Dad wouldn't take the news very well.

"A message?" Dad asked furiously, "From who?"

"I'm not at liberty to say." Yeah, bullshit, Alison.

Dad whipped out his cellphone, which I found kinda amusing. Trust Dad to come storming downstairs wearing nothing but a dressing gown, but remembering to take his cell with him. It was so typical of him. "I'm calling the police," he announced. "I don't care what piece of crap message you're coming to deliver, but nobody lays a toe on my fucking property without my say-so." He smiled sweetly. "I do hope you like court, Miss Chadwick."

Alison Chadwick got up, and started to run.

"Oh no, you fucking don't," I snarled, and tackled her again.

**APOV**

Call me strange, but the sight of Mallick tackling Alison was oddly hot. Alison had nothing to do with it (in fact, I'd MUCH have rather been the one he'd been tackling), but screw it, if I couldn't admire my boyfriend, then what the hell had the world come to?

I know, I know, pretty weird of me to even be THINKING about that, especially after everything that had happened, but give me a break, I was tired. Tired physically, but tired mentally as well. I mean…it was over. We'd caught Alison in the act. There'd be no more letters from hell! If I hadn't been so tired that I was in serious danger of falling unconscious on the spot, I would have cheered. Who would have thought that it was ALISON delivering the letters?

More to the point, who would've thought that we had finally caught her?

But…something wasn't quite right.

What had Mallick said before?

"_I've been expecting you!" _His words resonated through my mind, and I frowned. What the…? Had Mallick KNOWN when Alison was going to break in? How could he have…?

"Adam, I could use some help here," Mallick panted, doing his best to pin a thrashing and screaming Alison down. That jerked me back to reality. Whatever the case, Mallick needed help right now, securing a woman who had made several months of my life hell. I sprang into action and grabbed her arms. Unsure of what to do without hurting her (although I REALLY wanted to sock her in the face, at least once!), I pinned her arms behind her, rendering her harmless.

"Get off of me!" she screamed. Several people's porch lights flickered on. Great. We were getting an audience.

I grinned at her. "Not a chance, _Chadwick." _

**XxX**

Dad made one phone call, and practically an entire SWAT team arrived. Well, not entirely. Loads of police officers, a few forensic dudes, and even a couple of reporters, and it took around twenty minutes for them to get here, but in America, that's legendary speed. You could be being mugged right in front of the police station and it'd still take them an hour to sort you out, provided you weren't dead or something. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But still, outside help getting here in the time that they did was awesome.

I even saw a familiar face.

"Hoffman!" I exclaimed, once Eric (ugh, I forgot how much I had _hated_ that guy!) and Kerry had Alison in custody. The big guy turned around, and sure enough, it was my good friend Mark Hoffman. His stern face broke out into a huge grin.

"Adam Faulkner," he rumbled, and enveloped me in a huge hug. Eric rolled his eyes, but Kerry seemed amused. "Why am I not surprised that you're in trouble again?"

"Pure talent," I said, beckoning Mallick over. He did so, albeit a bit reluctantly. What was his problem?

"You do have a knack for attracting trouble," Hoffman boomed, "And didn't I say to call me Mark? You never listen to me, Faulkner!"

"He doesn't listen to anybody," Mallick said cheerfully, "Believe me, I've been trying."

"I believe you," Hoffman- MARK- said. He beamed at Mallick. "So you're the roommate, huh? I'm Mark Hoffman." And he offered a huge, calloused hand to my boyfriend. Mallick took it, grinning. It was as if he'd never not wanted to come over here.

"Mallick Scott," he said informally. "You were Adam's chauffeur, huh?"

"The one and only," Mark boomed. "Thankfully, though, I don't have to anymore. I was hoping he'd stay out of trouble, but-"

"It's Adam," Mallick said, grinning coyly at me. I flushed. What was he _trying _to do?! "He can't stay out of it."

"I know," Mark said, frowning. "She been bothering you two a lot, then?" He jerked his head over at Alison, who was being hauled into the squad car. I took some sick glee in the fact that Eric held no reservations about being forceful with a woman- she bumped her head on the way inside the car.

I scowled. "You could say that."

Mallick's father was busy talking to Kerry and a man I'd never seen before. He was younger than the rest of them, and spoke with a heavy Southern drawl. A badge on his chest read 'Gibson'. Mark's voice brought me back to the present with an unpleasant bump.

"What the hell is Alison Chadwick doing here?" he wondered. "I thought she was out of the state by now."

My scowl deepened. "That's what I'd like to know." Mallick nodded empathetically beside me.

"Rest assured, you'll be the first to know," Mark assured me, clapping me on the shoulder. It was like being punched- he was that strong. Briefly I remembered him slamming a fist into my face, of which the bruises were only just fading. Eric, Kerry and Gibson appeared to be done with my father, and were eyeing us curiously, Eric somewhat snottily. I gave him my biggest grin, making sure it didn't reach my eyes. The cop stiffened and scowled at me. Yeah, screw you too, Eric Matthews. "I've gotta go," Mark said slowly, "I'll probably see you around, knowing your knack for trouble." He winked. "Email me sometime." And with a big wave, he was in his boat of a car and gone, just like that.

Mallick and I stood there, watching Alison disappear. Was it really over? Was it REALLY? Somehow, I couldn't believe that it was just that easy.

But apparently it was. All three of us had given our statements to the police, and, after much hustle and bustle, Alison and the cops were gone, and it was just the three of us now, standing there in the front lawn, shivering our asses off. The street was lit up like a Christmas tree, but, as our neighbours realised that nothing more was going to happen, they ducked back inside, and the street was dark once more. "My God," Mr. Scott said weakly, mopping his brow, "_That _was certainly a turn of events."

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, and glanced over at Mallick. Now that the fight was over and done with, he seemed awkward, tense. He was pale and the bags under his eyes had darkened somewhat, making him appear in the night like a vampire or some shit. The baseball bat lay forgotten in the grass. Exhaling noisily, I went over and retrieved it- since it hadn't actually been used in the confrontation, it hadn't been taken away as evidence or whatever. I twirled the bat absentmindedly.

…Wow. Just, wow. I couldn't believe what had happened. Why the shit was Alison out here, anyway?!

I realised I was in serious danger of hitting either Mallick or his dad with the bat, so I stopped throwing it around like a lunatic. After a little more discussion, we all went back inside. It was damned cold outside.

"Well, I daresay none of us will be going back to sleep after that," Mallick's dad declared. "I'm going to go and make a cup of coffee. You boys want some?"

"Maybe something stronger," Mallick murmured, running a hand through his tousled hair. Man, he really did look like shit. Tonight had been terrifying. When they both looked at me for confirmation, I nodded enthusiastically. Yep, something stronger was in order, all right. We'd just caught Alison Gordon (sorry, _CHADWICK) _who'd been delivering those mysterious, ominous envelopes that had made my life hell. It was all over. All of it.

I was so happy. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders, and I could finally breathe easy. I wasn't going to get any more of those damned letters, and it felt _awesome. _

"Some Scotch on the rocks for you two," Mr. Scott was saying as he handed us a glass. I sniffed it tenderly. I'd never had Scotch before. That might sound weird, but back in the day when I had lived in my own flat, and made a living out of photography (as well as doing drugs), I'd always had to make do with the cheap, nasty kind of booze. The kind that kids bought because buying Dom Perignom or any of that other expensive shit was kind of conspicuous.

I heard a chuckle beside me, and I glanced over, to see Mallick eyeing me with amusement. "You don't smell it, you drink it," he grinned, and though all it did was highlight just how tired he was, I couldn't help the warm feelings that sprang up inside me. He was so cute…and I hadn't even taken a sip of this stuff yet.

"I know that," I grumbled, and downed the glass in one gulp. I came up spluttering. That stuff was a lot stronger than I'd thought! Mallick laughed, his eyes sparkling. "Let's go, mister," he said, taking my glass from me and placing his own on the counter. "We're off to bed, pop," he called over his shoulder. Mr. Scott blinked.

"I don't know how you boys are going to manage," came the reply. Mallick just laughed, and continued to pull me up the staircase.

"We'll manage," Mallick said, his voice suddenly a seductive purr. Hidden away safely on the top floor, there was no way his father could see us unless he climbed the stairs- and we'd hear him if he did.

I grinned as he pressed his lips to mine eagerly. Alison might have made my life hell, but if this was the reward, then I'd have her stalk me any day.


End file.
